


And Soon, So Too Shall I

by magniloquentChanteuse



Series: And the Day Turns to Night [5]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A lot of tough emotion, Angst, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Horror, Housed within a wisecracking sarcasm boy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sass master Parker, Secret Identity, Sunshine and fun times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 19:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19383607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magniloquentChanteuse/pseuds/magniloquentChanteuse
Summary: Peter should have known, after the events of the last two years, that locking up your bad guys didn't mean the end of your troubles. There was still a lot more evil out there to deal with, and he was learning that the hard way.But hey, he'd always been a quick study.(Sequel to Thunder and Attrition, previously titled This Could Be Really, Really Good or Really, Really Bad. So if you've been waiting for the second part to come out... wait no more!)





	1. The Way Things Are

**Author's Note:**

> GUESS WHO
> 
> That's right, it's ya gurl, back with the Second Installment in the Day Turns to Night! Get ready for intrigue, terror, goofs, and ultimately... something. This chapter is like, 7/10-ish the length of the chapters in the first one, but I imagine they'll be longer again in the future.

Memories:  

Peter was playing cards with the team— those who were around, anyway— and he was losing badly to Natasha and Clint, but at least Tony’s poker face was worse than his. Tony was plucking at his lip at that very moment, brow furrowed tightly as he glanced between Peter, Natasha, and Clint. His gaze turned fully to Peter and he double checked his cards before speaking.  

“Parker— got any threes?” Peter flung his last two cards into Tony’s face with pinpoint accuracy as Nat and Clint burst out laughing. 

“Screw you,  _ Anthony _ ,” he growled bitterly as Tony scooped the cards up off the table.  

“Almost makes me miss  _ Mr. Stark, _ ” he mused, laying down the four threes in front of him.  

\--- 

MJ beamed out over the crowd, glowing under the stage lights as she, along with the rest of the cast, took a bow. Peter clapped and cheered, hearing Flash whooping next to him. She could hear them, Peter could tell, from the embarrassed duck of her head, but they didn’t bother backing down. They could both see that she was still grinning.  

\--- 

Peter sat at the table, head hanging low as the moonlight shone through the large kitchen windows. He was exhausted, weary deep inside his bones but there was no possibility of sleep. 

Not tonight. 

\--- 

“So what’s the plan?” Peter called over the sound of the wind, crouched down on the roof next to Hawkeye.  

“A plan,” Hawkeye shouted back. “That’s a  _ great _ plan. Planning would be really smart right about now.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think shooting arrows at it is gonna solve this one,” Peter snorted, staring up at the creature as it waved its tornado-arms in a wide circle. 

“Hey,” Clint frowned defensively at him. “Shooting arrows at things can solve  _ any  _ problem if you’re a good enough shot.” 

Turns out he was right. 

\--- 

“Oh my god, you’re an angel,” Peter breathed reverently, watching as Johnny flopped down on the ledge next to him, large pizza in hand. “How did you manage to get that up here without it bursting into flame? 

“It’s called having control over your powers, webhead,” Johnny scoffed as he handed the box over. 

“I’ll push you off this building,” Peter threatened, but Johnny just snorted. 

\--- 

“So… can I ask you something?” Peter asked nervously, tossing the baseball back and forth between his hands for a moment before throwing it back to Steve. 

“Of course you can,” Steve answered immediately, and Peter watched the ball arching through the air as it came back to him. “What is it?” 

“You and Tony… fight a lot.” Peter caught the ball with a grimace, shaking out the sting in his hand. They ought to use gloves.  

“That’s… “ Steve clearly hadn’t anticipated the line of conversation. Peter threw the ball back again. “Not really a question.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Peter sighed, head tipping back. “I don’t know how to phrase it, I guess. I’m just worried.” 

“That therapy’s really paying off,” Steve commented, and Peter raised his hand when his spider sense alerted him to the incoming baseball. 

“I guess. Are things okay with you guys?” He asked haltingly, and although he couldn’t see Steve’s face, he could hear the slight smile in his voice over the comms. 

“Yeah, Pete. Things are okay.” The ball disappeared back into the distance. 

\--- 

Peter didn’t get out of bed. 

\--- 

Peter listened hard. It was quiet in the museum, aside from the quiet ticking of a nearby wall clock, but he knew she was in here. 

“Here, kitty kitty,” He called, lowering himself inside upside down on a web strand. “I’ve got some catnip for you.” 

“Do you really?” Black Cat appeared from the shadows like a ghost, and definitely did not scare Peter even a little bit. “Don’t be a tease, Spider-Man,” She cooed, lips curling up into a smile. “Though I am happy to see you. I miss our little chats.” 

“What are you after this time, Felicia?” Peter asked, dropping down to the floor with a casual flip. “An invaluable painting? Some kind of outrageously sized gem?” 

“No, nothing like that,” Black Cat melted back into the dark, but Peter followed, tracking her by the sound of her voice. “Maybe I’m just here as a supporter of the arts.” 

“If that were the case, you probably should have paid for a ticket.” Felicia, somewhere ahead of him, laughed. 

\--- 

Peter flung out a web and caught the mayor before she could fall more than a few feet. Far below, the people were cheering. 

\--- 

“So you’ve… met Daredevil?” Foggy asked in a slightly strained voice, shooting a glance at Matt. “What did you think of him?” 

“He’s awesome,” Peter gushed. “He’s saved my butt more than once.”  

“Here in Hell’s Kitchen?” Foggy asked, that weird expression fading into a frown. “You’re not getting into trouble on the way into our office, are you?” 

“No, no,” Peter shook his head hastily. “I was here for, um… other reasons.” Peter caught Matt’s smile out of the corner of his eye and had to wonder what it was about. 

\--- 

“Psst, hey, Rhodey. Come look at this.” 

“What is— oh my god.” 

“This is the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

“But also… kind of beautiful?”

“I think I’m gonna throw up.” 

“If you don’t like it,” Natasha called from where she and Peter were doing the most complex yoga Peter had ever encountered. “You don’t have to watch.” Peter gawped, wondering where in the world she had pulled that knife from as Tony, Rhodes, Bruce, Pepper, and Clint scattered from where they had been clustered around the door. 

\--- 

Peter stood, frowning at the murky green water, hands propped on his hips. The two kids next to him were staring into the pond with the kind of despondency he understood well. 

“You’re sure this is where they got thrown in?” 

“They’re there, alright,” the smaller one agreed, head hanging low. “My parents are gonna kill me.” 

“No, hey, it’s okay, no problem,” Peter did  _ not _ want to set foot in that water. He crouched next to it, squinting at the surface, letting his enhanced senses pick up on the tiny clues left behind— the slight movement of the water, the disturbances in the algae growth on the surface. After a moment he raised one hand and let a jet of webbing sling under the water. Yeah, he thought, a grin forming under his mask. Yeah, got it. 

He yanked on the line, successfully fishing the kid’s glasses out of the pond. He’d never felt more like a hero. 

\--- 

“Iron Man is cool, sure,” Flash agreed, putting the television on mute in order to turn the full attention of his frown onto Peter. “But I’m just saying, he’s up there in his tower, only coming out when the big, world-ending problems happen. Now, Spider-Man? Spider-Man is the hero of the  _ people _ . He’s the real hero around here.” He paused, then shoved Peter’s shoulder. “Stop grinning at me like that, Parker, you’re creeping me out.” 

\--- 

Peter didn’t get out of bed. 

\--- 

“I feel like I hardly know you,” Sam complained. “Everybody else is tight with you, but,” He gestured at Peter, who was sprawled on the floor in front of the television, mask firmly in place. “I don’t even get to know your name. Is it because I live in DC?” 

“Sorry,” Peter shrugged, only mildly chagrined. “But we  _ don’t _ really know each other. This face is privileged information, dude. Need to know basis and all that. The New York Avengers  _ need _ to know because I  _ live _ here.” 

“New York Avengers?” Sam demanded, scowling. “Oh, that’s how this is gonna be, huh? Well see if I don’t start the  _ DC _ Avengers. No— the  _ Capital  _ Avengers. Then we’ll see who knows who.” 

“Might not be a bad idea,” Peter agreed thoughtfully, lips ticking up under his mask. “After all, we’ve pretty much got things handled up here—” 

“Oh no,” Sam cut him off. “Absolutely not. The  _ newbie _ is not kicking  _ me _ off the team. That settles it: bro time. You and me. DC. I’ll show you around. You can come stay for a week or something.” 

“Awesome,” Peter’s smile spread into a grin. “I’ve always wanted to see the Washington Monument.” 

\--- 

Peter forgot not to open the photo gallery and finally, finally returned Deadpool’s phone. 

\--- __

_ Ring, ring _ . 

“Hello?” 

“Spider-Man!” It was Steve on the other end of the phone, but Peter could hear Bucky in the background. 

“We don’t need help,” Bucky was complaining. “We’re  _ superheroes _ . I think we can handle this.” 

“You nearly took the whole tree down,” Steve rebuked him, making Peter blink, rubbing a hand over the top of his head. “Spidey, are you busy?” 

“Too busy for hero work? Never,” Peter stood from the couch and jogged back to his room. “What’s up?” 

“Well,” Steve said slowly. Peter put him on speaker so he could listen while he pulled on his suit. “It’s a little cliche.” 

“Cliche is the kid’s middle name,” Bucky drawled in the background, and Peter directed a glare at the phone that he hoped Bucky could feel. 

“Bucky, shut up, you’re just upset that you can’t get the cat down.” 

“Oh my god,” Peter paused, mask in hand. “Is there a cat in a tree?” 

“There’s a cat in a tree,” Steve confirmed. “Buck tried to climb up for it, but he’s too heavy, what with the metal arm.” 

“And all these  _ muscles _ ,” Bucky added, from the sound of it leaning close to the phone. 

“Sure, Buck,” Steve agreed in a tone so doubtful Peter could feel the heat of the burn from where he was. “Anyway, Spidey, we’re over in DeWitt Clinton Park. Think you could lend us a hand?” 

“Sounds like a job for your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” Peter agreed, tugging his mask on and pushing the window open. 

\---  

Peter stood in front of a headstone and cried.  

\--- 

Kitty beamed up at him from his phone where the Skype call dominated the screen. “We’re going to be in town this weekend for a publicity thing,” She informed him brightly. “We should hang out!” 

“Definitely,” Peter agreed. “I can show you the tower, if you’re interested.” 

“Oh, I’m interested,” Kitty assured him. “I’d be stupid to pass up my chance to check out superhero central!” 

“Yeah, like Xavier’s doesn’t have  _ way more _ super powered individuals running around,” Peter scoffed. 

“That’s not the same,” Kitty answered with a roll of her eyes. 

“I don’t see why not,” Peter pursed his lips at her. “I’d love to see that place.” 

“You should come visit, sometime,” Kitty suggested, face lighting up, and Peter nodded vehemently. 

\--- 

“Grow  _ up _ , Parker,” Jessica demanded, but the way her voice was shaking betrayed her terror as she fumbled with the bandages. “It’s just a scratch.” 

\--- 

Peter got out of bed. 

\--- 

**August**

 

“Peter,” Dmitri’s voice was so full of sincere concern as Peter sat down across from him that it gave him whiplash. “I heard you were injured. Are you alright?”

“Right as rain,” Peter agreed dryly. “You know just as well as I do that if I’m here, I’m fine. It wasn’t that serious.”

“I know,” Dmitri eyed him, still looking doubtful. “But I worry.”

“I know you do,” Peter agreed, arms crossing over his chest. He forced himself not to look away. “But that’s not what I’m here about.”

“I’m at your service, as always, Peter,” Dmitri leaned forward, arms crossing on the table. Here in the prison, he didn’t have to be handcuffed. Peter kind of wished that he was anyway. “What do you need?”

Peter groaned, tipping his head back. “Why are you putting on this act? You already know what I need. I need the same thing I need  _ every _ time I come here. It’s not like I’m about to come in here asking about the birds and the bees, or how to shave, or something. I’ve got  _ actual _ role models for that. Not that I’d ever ask the Avengers about— that’s not the  _ point _ . Dmitri, where is Dr. Warren?”

“Peter—”

“No,” Peter cut him off as that cajoling tone slid through the air, thick and dripping. “No excuses. No demands. This isn’t a game. Dr. Warren was part of all this, and he needs to go to trial for what he’s done.”

“Is what he’s done really  _ illegal _ , though?” Dmitri drawled, head tilting to one side. “Now, Peter, I’m not a lawyer, but I don’t think there are laws against creating clones.”

He was right. Peter had googled it. Then he had asked Matt, just to be sure.

“No,” he huffed resentfully. “But he was definitely an accessory to other crimes. Look, I know you’re not… geeze. Why are you defending him? I don’t get it. Dmitri, please,” Peter swallowed his pride and leaned forward, letting his desperation shine out of his eyes. Dmitri’s face was carefully neutral in a way that Peter saw often on Natasha, when she was hiding her feelings. “For me.”

“Peter,” His voice was so soft, and Peter saw his hand twitch, like he wanted to reach across the table. Peter forced himself not to flinch back and was rewarded when Dmitri subsided, keeping his slimy lizard hands to himself. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

“Why not?” Peter threw his hands up, and he saw several of the guards stiffen. Oh: he was shouting. He lowered his hands again, along with his voice. “Dmitri, give me  _ something _ , here,  _ please _ . We’ve been searching for months, and we haven’t found anything. New York is too big for us to ever find him without your help. Why won’t you just tell me where he is? You don’t have anything to lose.”

“I have my reputation as a professional,” Dmitri answered him, mouth twisting wryly. “I have my dignity.” Questionable. “Peter, even if I wanted to tell you, he surely would have cleared out of the old spaces by now. He was a very intelligent man; he wouldn’t have stuck around in the same lab after everything that happened last year.”

Peters shoulders slumped and he looked down at the table. Pitiful, he told himself firmly. Look as pitiful as possible. “I guess,” he relented, glancing away. Remember Nat’s lessons, he coached himself as he ran a hand through his hair. He could see some of the tension going out of Dmitri’s shoulders. “You’re right. He’d be long gone, by now. Maybe he’s even left the city.”

“Maybe,” Dmitri agreed, his eyes staying on Peter. They didn’t drift, revealing nothing. He  _ was _ a professional, Peter had to admit. He wouldn’t let his guilt show on his face so easily. He didn’t think his beginner-level spy skills were going to get him a lot out of this interaction. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

Peter shrugged, keeping the dejected look locked onto his face. Although Nat liked to claim his acting abilities as a product of her teaching, he’d been acting as Spider-Man long before he’d ever even met her. “That’s it, then. It’s over.”

“You’re giving up?” Dmitri asked, one eyebrow raising skeptically.

“What else can I do?” Peter’s voice sharpened a little, then he huffed, pushing himself back to his feet. “It’s not like I can just keep combing New York— we both know I’ll never find him that way. It didn’t work for Doc Ock, and it won’t work for Miles Warren. It’s over. Either he’ll surface, or he won’t. It’s out of my hands.” He looked down at Dmitri, jaw tightening a little. “At least one good thing will come of this.”

“Oh?” Dmitri was watching him, still, of course he was, so Peter was sure he saw the twitch of Peter’s lips as he stifled the grin his mouth wanted to form. “What’s that?”

“I’ll never have to see  _ you _ again.” Peter stepped forward, going to pass Dmitri as he headed for the door. He didn’t get far, though— as he drew even with him, Dmitri’s hand snapped out and gripped his wrist. Peter couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through him.

“Peter, wait,” His voice was sharp and urgent.  _ Yes _ .

“What?” Peter tried to draw away, but Dmitri’s grip was firm. One of the guards was heading towards them.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” This was it! “My brother is in town.”

What.

“What?” Peter could feel his face twisting up in his confusion.

“He came to see me,” He said, voice low and rushed. “Peter, he’s dangerous, and he’s going to come after you.” 

Goosebumps ran over Peter’s skin and he frowned. “Your brother? Who is he?”

“He goes by Kraven,” Dmitri hissed. “And he wants your head.”

“Smerdyakov!” The guard interrupted, and Dmitri’s hand opened abruptly. “Back to your cell.  _ Now _ .”

“Wait—” Peter objected, but the guard pushed between him and Dmitri. 

“Time to go, kid,” The guard insisted, eyes narrowed, as he shepherded Dmitri back towards the prisoners door. Peter caught a glimpse of those pale blue eyes over the guard’s shoulder, but then the door shut between them and he was gone.

Great. 

Peter groaned again, pocketing his hands as he trudged his way back out of the visiting area. That hadn’t really gone how he had hoped, he thought, retrieving his backpack from the check counter. He still didn’t know where Warren was  _ and _ he was leaving with some kind of cryptic warning. Dmitri’s brother? Was he mad because Peter had gotten Dmitri arrested? Probably. But he must be something serious if Dmitri was worried about his ability to defend himself. 

That was definitely something to stress over. He added it to his mental checklist with a wry grimace.

“Thanks for waiting,” Peter said to the cabbie as he climbed back into the taxi. “Can you take me to Avengers Tower, please?” He swung his backpack onto the seat next to him and dug into it, fishing out his phone after a moment. A Starkphone, he thought with a slight smile. He never thought he’d end up with one of these, let alone such an  _ expensive _ one. But Tony insisted— this one would probably be able to stand up to  _ most _ of his super-powered antics, he had claimed. Peter was doubtful, but hey, he was willing to take Tony at his word. And if it  _ did _ end up broken… well, Peter wasn’t too shy for a good  _ I told you so _ .

His phone had a few texts on the screen. He opened the one from Jessica first.

 

**DRJONES: hey parker**

**DRJONES: feeling any better?**

**PPPatient: I dont like this nickname**

**PPPatient: Can I please change it**

**DRJONES: hell no**

**DRJONES: this is your fair and just punishment for bleeding all over my bed**

**DRJONES: mrs jones gave me *a talk* because of it**

**PPPatient: Uh oh**

**DRJONES: yeah uh oh**

**DRJONES: you have no idea how embarrassing it is to get a menstruation lecture from an adoptive parent when youre seventeen years old**

**PPPatient: And I am so grateful for that fact**

**DRJONES: yeah i bet**

**DRJONES: anyway if youre complaining i guess youre ok**

**PPPatient: Fit as a fiddle!**

**PPPatient: Thanks for your help**

**PPPatient: Seriously**

**DRJONES: id say any time but i legitimately hope i am never in that position again**

**DRJONES: that being said id rather you come to me than try and take care of it yourself**

**DRJONES: but at this rate im gonna need to take some first aid classes or something**

**PPPatient: I really need to do that, too**

**PPPatient: Maybe we can take one together?**

**DRJONES: im not doing some kind of bonding activity with you if thats what youre suggesting**

**PPPatient: Yeah fair I don’t want to spend time with you anyway**

**DRJONES: yeah right im basically your best friend**

**DRJONES: after the avengers**

**DRJONES: and mj and flash**

**DRJONES: and those mutant kids**

**DRJONES: and johnny storm**

**DRJONES: no i take it back i rank above johnny storm and the mutant kids**

**DRJONES: jesus parker when did you actually get a social life**

**PPPatient: I honestly have no idea Im just as surprised as you are**

**PPPatient: Who knew that all I needed to do to make friends was run around town in a onesie punching people in the face?**

**DRJONES: truly weve stumbled upon the secret of friendship**

**PPPatient: We should publish our findings, well be famous**

**DRJONES: and then well have even more friends**

**DRJONES: excellent plan**

 

Peter grinned down at his phone, then switched to the next active message thread.

 

**BigBird: [attached video]**

**Eagle2: What am I looking at here**

**BigBird: It’s Wednesday, my dudes**

**Eagle2: Its Thursday?**

**BigBird: aaaAAAAAAAA**

 

Peter rolled his eyes but the smile on his face only widened as he scrolled through to the last message.

  
  


**MamaWebs: Will you be home for dinner?**

**Itsybitsy: Yeah! I’m on my way now.**

**Itsybitsy: What are we having?**

**MamaWebs: Barnes is cooking, so probably something boiled.**

**Itsybitsy: Aw come on! Hes been getting better**

**MamaWebs: Better doesn’t mean good, and we both know that.**

**Itsybitsy: Hes doing his best**

**MamaWebs: Not good enough. What do you say me and you sneak out and get Thai food?**

**Itsybitsy: ...Maybe**

 

Peter glanced up as his spidey senses tingled, and in the rearview mirror he saw police lights flash by, heading perpendicular to himself.

 

**Itsybitsy: Might need to put a rain check on that**

**Itsybitsy: Something came up**

**MamaWebs: Parker, you’ve betrayed me for the last time**

**Itsybitsy: I doubt that**

**Itsybitsy: Ttyl**

**MamaWebs: Be safe**

 

“Hey, hey,” Peter leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the top of the passenger's seat. “Pull over here.” He checked the meter and thrust a handful of cash into the cabbie’s hand before bursting out of the taxi, backpack in tow.

New York, Peter thought fondly, made it so easy to change into a superhero costume at a moments notice. There were a million crannies to slip off to. Downside, of course, being that criminals often found the same hidey holes, but hey, that was what Spider-Man was around for, right?

Peter leapt out over the street and swung away before the cab had managed to clear the block. He could hear the sirens, despite not being able to see the lights anymore, and that made it simple to track down the scene of the crime. Over the bridge and only a few blocks down he found a battalion of police cars forming a perimeter around an unassuming patch of sidewalk. No villains were in sight, but that wasn’t unusual; it was clear that something was going on inside the building, from the way the police were huddled behind their cruisers, guns drawn. Peter could see a man in a vest labeled  _ Negotiator _ , bullhorn in hand, talking to two other officers nearby. 

He landed with a nifty flip just behind the hastily constructed yellow tape border in order to avoid startling anyone into shooting him. Nobody noticed. Lame.

“Afternoon, officers,” Peter called, deftly ducking under the outstretched arm of one deputy who tried to block his path. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Spider-Man,” The Negotiator frowned at him, but it wasn’t necessarily hostile. “We’ve got a hostage situation inside the embassy. This is a delicate operation— we don’t need any rogue elements gumming up the works.”

“There’s an  _ embassy _ in there?” Peter craned his neck to look at the revolving door. “I swear I’ve gone down this street a million times and never even realized. Wow. But, hey, seriously, I’m here to help. I’m not rogue. I can do delicate!”

“I saw your fight with Doc Ock last year.” The Negotiator’s arms crossed over his chest. “That didn’t look too delicate to me.”

“That’s because I’m  _ versatile _ ,” Peter explained, crossing his arms right back. “Come on, if those hostages are in danger, you could use a guy like me. I can get inside while you’re out here distracting… who’s in there?”

“We don’t know,” The hostage negotiator admitted, arms dropping back to his sides. The other policemen, previously looking edgy, deflated a little, too. “We haven’t seen him, but he had one of the hostages stand in the door and call out his demands.”

Peter sobered. “What is he asking for?”

“Twenty million dollars,” Peter nodded. Standard stuff. “A helicopter,” Where were they even going to land a helicopter around here? “And for the police chief to swear fealty to him.” At that Peter choked on a snort and he could see the officers trying not to crack smiles themselves.

“Seriously?”

“You get all kinds, with these villains,” The Hostage Negotiator replied, looking towards the door. “We’re trying to talk him down on the last one but so far he hasn’t budged.”

“Alright,” Peter hopped on top of the nearest police car, a grin wide behind his mask. “Well I can definitely help. Just tell me what to do.”

“You sure about this? We can’t have any mistakes. If you mess this up— it’s on you.”

“I won’t mess it up,” Peter raised one hand, the other over his heart. “Scout’s honor. Best behavior. I’m here to work, I promise.”

“Alright,” The officer agreed, speaking through a long sigh. “Alright. See if you can get in from upstairs— there’s only one guy in there, and he’s got the hostages on the first floor. Don’t let him hear you coming. Find out what’s going on in there, then come back out. Don’t interfere until we know what we’re dealing with. Got it?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Peter saluted, then leapt high into the air and pulled himself to the rooftop with a webshot.

No rooftop access, Peter noticed with a grimace, and all sides but the front were penned in by other buildings and businesses. That meant he would need to go in through one of the windows on the front of the building. It should be fine, as long as there were no cameras.

No, Peter amended the thought. It was an embassy; there would be cameras. But hopefully there wouldn’t be any pointed  _ up _ . 

He poked his head over the edge of the building, listening for the buzz of electronics, waiting for the accompanying vibrations under his skin that indicated a camera pointed in his direction. Nothing: he was in the clear, for now. He scampered down the side of the building, feeling somewhat self conscious with all those police officers and bystanders alike there to watch his spidery skitter, and tested the first window.

Locked. Obviously it was locked. Did it even open? Surely it would: that was like, a fire safety thing, right? Peter stuck his hands to the window and tugged sharply upwards, and his enhanced hearing picked up on the snap of the lock inside. He even saw a piece of it tumble to the floor.  _ Nice _ .

He slid the window open and wiggled his way inside, feeling even more embarrassed than before with his butt still sticking out the window. This probably looked less graceful than he’d like.

Peter left the window open in case he needed a speedy escape, then hopped up onto the wall. It wouldn’t do to have the floor creak, after all. He glanced around the office he was in: two desks, clearly hastily abandoned. One had a cup of steaming tea on it, and there were open files on the desktop. He took a look, knowing it was unlikely to have anything pertinent, but hey, it never hurt to do a little reconnaissance. 

The screen, however, turned out to be something of a disappointment: the characters were barely recognizable and the language  _ definitely _ wasn’t English. Where even was he? What embassy was this?

“Stop your whimpering,” The hissing voice caught Peter’s attention immediately, distracting him from the display in front of him. “Your fate is in the hands of your precious police chief, now.”

Oh,  _ great _ , Peter thought with an exaggerated eye roll. Villain dialogue. Could it  _ be _ any more cliche?

Peter crawled through the doorway and up onto the ceiling. There were plenty of offices, all with open doors, up here, but it was quiet. The sounds of quiet crying were coming from downstairs, along with the continued mumbling of the villain.

The stairs were next to an open balcony that overlooked the first floor: perfect. Peter moved slowly, edging the huddled hostages into view downstairs. He couldn’t see the bad guy, yet, but he was pleasantly surprised to see a cat sitting on the floor. Wait— did the villain bring his cat? Did he have some kind of cat theme (that was taken, geeze, have some  _ standards _ ) or did he just not want his cat to get lonely or something?

The villain must be under the balcony, safely out of sight, Peter decided, but it would still be better not to move any further. If any of the hostages caught sight of him, they might give him away. He shifted back over the second floor, then dropped lightly to the copper railing. The sound was so slight that none of the humans reacted, and even the cats ears only twitched slightly before it subsided again.

With seemingly no more monologuing planned for the immediate future, the villain had Peter guessing as to his location, and he couldn’t risk seeking out further information in case the guy happened to be looking right at him when he peeked his way down. Maybe he should try to find another way.

The elevators were obviously out of the question, but maybe he could be quiet enough on a set of stairs to avoid detection. He found them easily— clearly marked, thank you, fire safety codes. Using the mug of tea to prop open the door, rather than letting it click shut behind him, Peter hopped the railing and lowered himself down to the next landing on a strand of web.

The first floor landing wasn’t shut off from the building like it was on the second floor; it was, however, around the corner from the mail office space, next to the bathrooms. Peter listened hard, letting his enhanced senses take in the ragged breaths of the hostages, the shuffling of cloth against carpet, and the slight jingle of what must be a bell on the cat’s collar. It was getting closer, he realized, holding his breath and jumping high to stick himself to the bottom of the stairs above. Don’t give him away, Peter silently begged the cat, hoping that the villain wouldn’t come running if his feline friend disappeared.

Then it appeared around the corner, bell jingling merrily, and its wide yellow eyes unerringly found him. Well, he admitted with some chagrin, he wasn’t the  _ stealthiest _ spider, what with the red and blue and all. Maybe it would get its fill of checking him out, then move along.

“Shoo,” Peter whispered, flapping one hand at the cat. “Go back over there.”

The cat meowed loudly, and Peter flinched. There were a few whimpers of fear from the hostages on the other side of the wall, and Peter’s attention snapped towards them. His focus was so absolute that he almost missed what the cat did next.

“Spider-Man,” It greeted him in a cold, harsh voice. “You shouldn’t have come snooping in here.”

Peter nearly fell off the freaking wall, he was so startled. That was  _ definitely _ the voice he’d heard before, no doubt. Was. Was this cat holding this consulate hostage?

“Cat got your tongue, Spider-Man?” The cat purred below him, shifting to sit back on its haunches. 

“I am so disappointed that you beat me to that joke,” Peter finally managed to get out, and yeah, that was definitely not how he should be handling this situation, but  _ geeze _ a  _ foreign embassy _ was being held hostage by a  _ cat _ . “On the bright side, this is  _ definitely _ a dream, so at least no one will ever know my shame.”

“Oh, this is no dream, Spider-Man,” The cat stood again, and Peter caught a glimpse of the bell swinging from the collar under its neck. “This is a hostile takeover.”

“This is ridiculous, is what it is,” Peter corrected the cat, dropping lithely to the floor. “I honestly can’t say I understand what’s going on here right now.”

“Let me enlighten you,” The cat turned and hopped up onto an abandoned desk, casually pushing a pen off the surface and onto the floor. Wow, that was cute. Peter forced himself to tune back in to this absolutely absurd situation just long enough to make sure he wasn’t missing anything important. “When I was just a little kitten,” Yep. Classic villain monologuing. “I was snatched from my mother and brought into a strange place—”

Peter watched in disbelief as the cat used the bell under its neck— a  _ laser _ , apparently— to blast a picture frame off the next desk over. Somewhat less cute, and also probably how he was managing to hold actual humans hostage. Peter pursed his lips as he considered. He could probably hit it with a web shot and clog it up…

“And by then, of course, I had realized that I was quite a bit more intelligent than your average feline, unlike any of the others—”

Or maybe snag it off entirely? No— he didn’t want to risk yanking the cat off the desk by its neck. It might be an  _ evil  _ cat, but it was still just a cat. He wasn’t about that animal cruelty life.

“But you see, they never realized my  _ true _ potential—”

He could probably web the whole cat to the desk, but the laser could probably cut through it, and he didn’t want to risk this going sideways. He’d already managed to get busted for sneaking in, after all, and he could  _ not _ risk anybody getting hit with that thing. This was all pretty silly, and he’d much rather it stay that way. If it got serious, things could go bad.

“And all I had ever wanted was before my grasp! They thought they could contain me—”

Geeze, he was really going off.

Peter tilted his head to the side, surreptitiously examining the hostages. There weren’t that many of them, all told, but they looked somewhat terrified. Reasonable, Peter thought. As hilarious as he found this, personally, their lives were at risk. He shouldn’t make light of this situation. 

“—Really showed  _ them _ ,” the cat was crowing, puffed up with pride. “ They never saw it coming, the  _ fools _ ,”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Peter cut in unabashedly. The cat’s whiskers twitched and his ears lowered in annoyance. “But I had a quick question about your evil scheme.”

“Yes, Spider-Man?” The cat drawled, clearly irritated. “What is it?”

“So you were planning this all on your own? You didn’t have any help?”

“None at all.” It was back to preening, now, looking very pleased with itself. 

“So you really managed to pull this off on your own,” Peter mused, letting his voice display admiration. “And no one else is here with you.”

“As if I needed any help!” The feline scoffed, standing. Peter nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“Awesome, yeah, that’s awesome. One more question: how were you planning on dealing with  _ that _ ?” He pointed out the window, and the cat whirled to look, a hiss rising from its throat. As it glared out the window, seeking the threat Peter had indicated, Peter crossed the short space between them and scooped up the cat by the scruff of its neck, unclipping the collar with ease.

“Oldest trick in the book, buddy,” Peter said sympathetically as the cat yowled and squirmed in his grasp. “You probably should have let some human work on this with you. Humans don’t fall for that one so much. Ouch! Keep the claws to yourself.” He turned his attention to the people huddled together on the floor. “You guys can head on out, now, it’s okay.”

There was a short stampede and a few gasped words of thanks and praise, then he and the cat were alone.

“You’ll regret this, Spider-Man,” The cat snarled as Peter wrangled it into an empty printer paper box. “You’ve made an enemy of the wrong cat.”

“I think making an enemy of  _ any _ cat would be a bad call, to be honest,” Peter assured it, webbing the lid to the box. It would get plenty of air through the handholds, he decided. No need to risk anything by trying to poke more holes. “I’ve never had a pet, myself, but people say they can be pretty…  _ catty _ .”

Peter looked around. No one left to laugh at his joke; the cat sure didn’t seem inclined to do so. Crud. Oh, well, he’d be able to recycle it later.

Peter strolled out through the revolving door, box tucked under his arm. The police and paramedics were busy with the former hostages, but the Negotiator was watching him emerge with crossed arms, looking somewhat exasperated.

“Spider-Man, I gave you specific instructions,” he began, but Peter cut him off by thrusting the box into his hands, and the cat was still rattling around in there enough that he had to concentrate to get a good grip on it.

“Don’t worry about it, officer, I made the  _ collar _ for you. Don’t stick your fingers in there,” Peter advised. “That joke would probably have made more sense if I opened with the fact that our villain of the day was some kind of experimental genetically modified cat with a laser collar, but hey, as long as the work gets done and the jokes get made, right?”

“A cat?” The hostage negotiator was staring at him, perplexed. “Laser collar?” 

“Right,” Peter agreed, holding up the offending object between two fingers. “Speaking of. Here’s this, better get like, a baggie or something for it. Oh, man, I wish it was a dog, I could have said a doggie bag. Man, missed opportunity. Oh, well.”

“Well— thank you, Spider-Man,” The hostage negotiator finally allowed as someone in gloves arrived to accept the collar. “You didn’t do what I asked, but like you said, the work got done.”

“And the jokes got made.”

“Sure,” The officer’s voice was significantly drier with his agreement. “But from what I understand, that’s an occupational hazard that just comes from working with you.”

“Ouch,” Peter winced, a hand pressing to his chest. “That stings, officer. Really, that hurts my feelings.”

“Just get out of here, would you?” He didn’t sound harsh when he said it, though, so Peter let his hand fall, grinning under the mask. “Surely you have somewhere else to be.”

“Well, I am late for dinner, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Peter snickered, shrugging as he took a step backwards away from the negotiator. “See you around!” Peter leapt high into the air, startling a few shouts from people nearby, and swung away.

A talking cat, Peter mused as he did so. Honestly that might be one of the weirder encounters of his superhero career. He added it to the list: giant bees, goo monster, flytrap, talking cat. New York city was wild.

He grimaced as he thought of the strange characters he’d met that he did  _ not _ include on his ultimately entertaining, nobody-got-hurt list of weirdness. Octavius. Noah Montford. The Chameleon.

But that was over, Peter told himself firmly as he swung for Avengers tower. Octavius was in Ravencroft, Noah Montford was dead, and even Dmitri was behind bars. It was all behind him now. Now the biggest thing he had to worry about were overly intelligent cats with ambitions of the world-conquering variety.

And maybe Bucky’s cooking, Peter thought with a grimace, abruptly detouring to pick up some takeout on the way home.


	2. Raise, Check, Hole Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This month makes two years since the beginning of TCBRRG-- in story, that is. It started September of 2017 and this chapter is September of 2019. Not important to the plot, but I just thought it was worthy of note.

**September**

 

Peter had thought often about how  _ free _ he felt when he was swinging, but there was another feeling that was just as prominent, sometimes. He felt  _ powerful _ , when he was flinging himself through the air, catching his body. He could feel the forces at work on his body, he could feel the pull on his arms when he caught himself out of a fall, but it was okay. He could do it, and he wasn’t going to hurt himself. He was strong and he was competent and he felt every bit the superhero he’d become. When he was swinging, he felt untouchable. Even when Doc Ock grabbed him out of the air, or when he hit a window.

 

Peter was powerful, and he deserved to remember that. That was what Bruce said, anyway. He deserved to understand that he was powerful and he had the strength to help himself and others. He didn’t need offers like the one Dmitri had made. He was enough.

 

It was kind of mind boggling, sometimes, thinking like that, but he liked it. It felt good.

 

Peter still chose to change out of his suit while he was on the Manhattan side of the river and take the subway across. He didn’t much care for the Brooklyn Bridge, anymore.

 

It took longer to get to Queens, that way, but hey, he was going to be in his civvies anyway. No point in putting himself in a stressful situation when there wasn’t any need for it, right, Bruce? Peter smiled to himself as he shimmied his way into the subway car past a couple who were whispering sappily to each other, half blocking the door. Peter grimaced, wishing he didn’t have super hearing right at this moment.

 

He pulled out his phone as he settled into an empty seat, letting the movement of the subway jostle him in that familiar, almost fluid way as he settled in to wait.

 

**Ringmaster: Hey @Tiger, you on your way?**

**Tiger: Hey mj! Yeah ill be there soon**

**Tiger: Dont tell me you guys are there already**

**Tiger: I left early and everything**

**Ringmaster: Ah, don’t worry about it I’m early**

**Ringmaster: Flash isnt here yet either**

**Crackerjack: but youll notice she didn’t feel the need to tag me and ask where i was**

**Tiger: Oh dont worry I noticed**

**Ringmaster: Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that**

**Ringmaster: But Flash, if Peter beats you here youre driving me to school every day for the first week**

**Crackerjack: as the only one of this merry trio that actually has a car i thought that was already my responsibility**

**Crackerjack: isnt that why im driving us tonight**

**Ringmaster: Basically**

**Tiger: Welcome to your new life as our personal chauffer**

**Crackerjack: yeah right dork**

**Crackerjack: i bet you have an actual chauffer now**

**Crackerjack: i accept tips btw if i havent made that clear**

**Ringmaster: So is Jessica coming?**

**Tiger: No**

**Tiger: She says parties arent really her scene**

**Ringmaster: That’s fair**

**Ringmaster: She doesn’t really seem like the party type**

**Tiger: Neither do i**

**Tiger: Remind me why im doing this again?**

**Ringmaster: Because you spend too much time hanging around in Avengers tower with people three times your age!!**

**Ringmaster: You need to spend more time with** **_us_ **

**Crackerjack: and besides**

**Crackerjack: you managed to skip over the last two years of high school and you never went to a single party**

**Crackerjack: you might as well go to one while youre still young enough to enjoy it**

**Ringmaster: Even if you are a bigshot scientist at Stark Industries now**

**Ringmaster: You’re still a teenager and you need to be out enjoying life!**

**Tiger: Yeah thats what tony said too**

**Ringmaster: Tony**

**Crackerjack: tony**

**Tiger: Yes!!**

**Tiger: Tony!!**

**Tiger: Lay off!!**

**Ringmaster: Sure thing, Mr-first-name-basis-with-tony-stark**

**Crackerjack: my sincerest apologies YOUR MAGESTY**

**Tiger: You guys are the worst**

**Tiger: Im muting this conversation**

**Tiger: Im throwing my phone away**

**Crackerjack: TONY will probably buy you a new one**

**Tiger: Oh my god**

 

Peter closed out of the message, running a hand over his face, but he was grinning wryly. He could put up with a little teasing, he thought. He had a pretty thick skin. Thing was, he wasn’t far from his stop and he had a perfectly valid excuse to tuck his phone back into his pocket and shoulder his way back over to the door. At least the couple had shuffled out of the way by the time he got over there.

 

The doors opened and Peter jogged out ahead of the other passengers, climbing the stairs and emerging into the Queens dusk with something of a skip in his step, even despite the somewhat daunting idea of going to a party with people he hadn’t seen in… geeze, forever. He’d dropped out of school almost two years ago, now. MJ and Flash had assured him that he wasn’t even a topic of gossip anymore, nobody really talked about him, but he was pretty sure this party was going to set a spark back under that pile of kindling.

 

But whatever. Honestly? He was doing pretty ok. Even if people at school were talking about him, he would still have a family, and friends, and a job, and a GED, and all the things he’d accomplished since he dropped out. 

 

Peter was okay.

 

And that was the thought that was with him as he trotted along the street, not really holding out hope that he’d beat Flash but kind of crossing his fingers for it anyway. Miracles had happened before, he supposed, and they could happen again. Maybe even the habitually late Peter Parker could break the expectation every once in a while.

 

A car honked as it went by him and Peter recognized it as Flash’s.  _ Drat. _ Peter pulled out his phone and Flash answered on the second ring. Peter watched as the brake lights flashed on ahead of him as Flash pulled up to a red light.

 

“Hey, Parker,” Flash sounded like he was smirking. Jerk. “What’s up?”

 

“You’re just going to drive right by me?” Peter asked crossly. “You’re not even going to pick me up?”

 

“Tell you what,” Flash replied. “I’ll give you a ride to get MJ if you get your scrawny butt up here and get in the car before the light turns green.”

 

“How generous of you,” Peter said dryly, but broke into a run. It was easier than it used to be, going very fast while  _ looking _ like he was moving at a normal, non-enhanced human speed. He yanked the door open just as the light turned green, practically diving inside. “You’re a  _ terrible _ chauffer.”

 

“We’ve been over this,” Flash reminded him, looking every bit the stereotype in his letterman jacket. “I’m a  _ cabbie _ , not a  _ chauffer _ . So get used to piss poor service and exorbitant rates.”

 

“Hey, I’m a New Yorker, I know the drill,” Peter joked back, hanging up his phone and tucking it away before buckling in. “Hey, does this mean that MJ’s the late one?”

 

Flash considered that a moment. “No, I think we’re still meeting  _ her _ , and she beat us to the park. But we don’t have to say that.”

 

“Good call,” Peter agreed, looking out the window. Riding in cars was still kind of stressful, but Flash was a surprisingly good driver and mostly there weren’t any problems. Mostly.

 

Flash turned on the radio, giving Peter an excuse to silently stare out at the city. Flash had become remarkable insightful to Peter’s moods, he noticed. Flash always seemed to notice when he didn’t feel much like talking, and he was always really cool about it. Where MJ might talk more in order to cover up that he wasn’t speaking, Flash was fine with sitting together without conversation, listening to the classic rock songs on his presets.

 

Even though he’d never really gotten the appeal, back when they were  _ Gwen’s _ friends, it was very apparent now. The two of them were great people.

 

Flash pulled into a metered spot and tapped the horn, attracting MJ’s attention from where she was perched on a park bench, looking kind of like a super model in her dress and hat. 

 

“Why’s she hanging out with a couple of schmucks like us?” Flash wondered aloud, peering out the passenger window at her as he flipped the radio back off. All Peter could do was shrug helplessly as MJ climbed into the back seat.

 

“Hey guys,” She greeted them with a red-lipped grin. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

“Wow, MJ,” Peter twisted to give her a dry, exasperated look. “Way to make us look  _ way _ underdressed.”

 

“Oh, shut up, Tiger, you look fine,” MJ scoffed, reaching up to ruffle his hair. Great. “You, too, Flash. Let’s get going, the party’s out in Astoria.” Flash pulled away from the curb, and Peter flipped the visor down so he could see MJ in the mirror. She noticed and gave him a bright smile. “How’s it going, champ? How’s work?”

 

“It’s good,” Peter agreed noncommittally. “Working on something new at the labs.”

 

“Something confidential, I’m sure,” Flash commented, and Peter flashed a grin.

 

“Now you’re getting it,” Peter agreed approvingly, then looked back to MJ. “How about you? Senior year treating you ok?” MJ’s nose wrinkled in the mirror.

 

“We’re already loaded down with homework,” She complained. “You wouldn’t believe it. This year is, apparently, the year of test prep.” She shook one fist demonstratively up where he could see it. “Someday I’m going to be famous, and I’ll marry a president, and I’ll convince him to criminalize standardized testing.”

 

“You could become the president yourself,” Flash suggested, and MJ snorted.

 

“Yeah, one problem with that: I want to be an  _ actress _ , not a  _ president. _ ”

 

“Wasn’t Nixon an actor?” Peter volunteered, and MJ sniffed haughtily.

 

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Until he  _ flaked out _ . He was a quitter, and I am  _ not _ going to be the next Nixon. I’m going to be the next Cate Blanchett.”

 

“An admirable goal,” Flash agreed, crossing through an intersection in a completely safe and legal way, but Peter still tensed up despite himself. Not so much as a whisper from his spider sense, at least, so that was nice. If only the rest of his body could get the memo.

 

“So how many guys have already asked you to the mixer?” Peter teased MJ through the mirror, but she snorted, leaning back.

 

“Why does it matter, Peter? Are you jealous?” Peter’s grin flickered a little and he could see the knowledge in MJ’s eyes before he decided not to let himself get upset.

 

“You wish. I’m still hung up on Flash.”

 

“Wait, what?” Flash seemed to tune into the conversation, then, startled, and Peter didn’t hesitate to laugh at him the way he might have back when he was in school with them. Wow, he thought as he wiped at his eyes. He never would have  _ dreamed _ of saying something like that to Flash back then.

 

“Nothing, man.” Peter leaned an elbow against the door, propping his chin against his fist and grinning. “And what about being a freshman again? That’s gotta be fun.”

 

“College isn’t really the same as high school,” Flash mused aloud. “The totem pole isn’t as much of a thing— being a freshman mostly doesn’t mean that much.” He grimaced. “Well, it does to the  _ team _ , but for the most part it’s fine.”

 

“Is it as hard as the teachers are telling us it’s going to be?” MJ asked somberly, leaning forward as far as her seatbelt would allow. Peter could tell from the motion that she wanted to scoot into the middle and lean up between the seats, but she must have known how he’d react, so she stayed put.

 

“Not so far,” Flash answered, shrugging one shoulder. “There’s a lot of reading, but it hasn’t been too bad.”

 

“There’s tutoring in the library, right?” Peter prompted. “They offer that as ESU, don’t they?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Flash admitted, shoulders stiffening a little. “I haven’t really checked it out yet.”

 

“Oh,” Peter looked out the window, thinking about Flash’s last tutor. “Right.”

 

It was hard, he thought with no small amount of frustration as he ran a hand through his hair. It was hard to hang out with MJ and Flash and not think about Gwen. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy their company. He definitely did. In fact, the two of them were probably his best friends. That didn’t make it any easier, though, when he thought about how the empty seat in the back  _ should _ have had her in it. It should have been all four of them heading out to Astoria for this party, tonight. She would slot right in with them, completing the dynamic perfectly. It hurt.

 

But then again, Peter thought, looking out the window. The three of them might never have become friends if it weren’t for Gwen’s death. Not that he was grateful for it— no amount of good could come from it that would make it worth it. But if Gwen had been alive, MJ would have probably stayed  _ her _ friend. If she had been alive, Flash wouldn’t have become their friend at all. They were from three separate parts of Gwen’s life, and they’d all come together, sucked in by the vacuum that her loss had created.

 

It wasn’t worth it, never worth it, but that didn’t make it bad. 

 

“Does your car have bluetooth?” MJ prompted suddenly, from the back seat, and Flash’s lips twitched up. “This thing? No way. I do have an aux cord though.” He fumbled at the console for a moment before passing the loose end of the cable back to her, and a moment later music poured through the speakers. The upside, of course, being that it blanketed firmly over all of their mournful silence and drove the melancholy from the car. The downside was that this song was undeniably a show tune. Peter eschewed the mirror in favor of turning over his shoulder to give MJ a disbelieving look. She dimpled back at him, completely unaffected by Flash’s curses.

 

“It’s about time someone exposed you boys to some culture,” She said serenely over the warbling tone of someone singing about corn fields or something. It was hard to say.

 

“This is not culture,” Flash scolded from the front seat. “This is torture. I trusted you, MJ. You were supposed to put on some kind of… party music, I don’t know. Something to get us pumped up.”

 

“There will be plenty of party music at the party,” MJ replied dismissively as Peter finally turned back around. “You really ought to be thanking me for the variety.”

 

“I’ll be thanking  _ God _ when we  _ get there _ ,” Flash shot a grimace over at Peter, who gave him a tight-lipped commiserating stare.

 

“I swear, who  _ raised _ you two? You have some serious learning to do, and if I’m the only one who’s prepared to tackle your cultural education, then by God, I guess it’s up to me.”

 

And if all three of them were shouting along to songs from  _ The Greatest Showman _ by the time they got to the party, well, no one had to know.

 

Peter was surprised to find that he wasn’t really nervous as they climbed out of the car. His social anxiety still tended to rear its head often: he was, after all, surrounded by scientists with oodles of degrees in his workplace and his home, superheroes of all kind and experience littered themselves through his life, and he spent way too much time around high society, now that he was housemates with Tony Stark. He often felt like an imposter, someone who didn’t truly  _ belong _ in the life he’d somehow found himself in.

 

But here? He belonged here. He would blend right in with all these other teenagers, no matter what anyone thought. No one could dispute that. 

 

Well, aside from the superpowers, but based on the way the world was looking about now, there were probably at least three other people at this party alone with some kind of ability that they were either hiding or unaware of. So, yeah, as far as Peter was concerned, he fit in in that regard, too. He lifted his chin defiantly against the notion that he didn’t as they entered the party, and he let the noise of the music slam against his ears like a blow to the head.

 

Not much worse than hanging out in Tony’s lab, honestly.

 

It was everything the movies said it was, Peter thought as he and MJ bumped their way through the crowd behind Flash, who was clearing a path more easily than they would have been able to. Dimly lit and smoky, loud and full of laughter. He recognized a lot of people from school, but there were plenty of them that he didn’t think he’d ever laid eyes on. For each set of eyes that caught on him, he noticed with surprise and pleasure, there was another that slid off. People were more likely to stare at MJ in her red dress, either way, he realized as a grin spread over his face.

 

He was so busy glancing around that he didn’t notice when Flash stopped and he walked right into his back.

 

“Watch where you’re going, Parker,” Flash scoffed over his shoulder, and MJ chortled behind him. “Come on, there’s some room over here.” He elbowed his way over to a wall, and Peter was grateful to be out of the jostling of the crowd. He had a pretty good handle on his superior senses, these days, but it was still appreciated to be out of the middle of it.

 

“I think a couple of the guys from the team are here,” Flash was looking over the heads of the other students. “I’m gonna go say hi.” He gave the two of them a grin. “MJ, keep an eye on Peter, would you? I don’t want to have to find out he’s a real party animal the hard way.”

 

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Peter shouted back at him, his voice as dry as possible under the circumstances, but at the same time MJ saluted, chin raised high.

 

“Aye, aye, captain,” She agreed, and Peter treated them both to the heftiest eye roll he could manage as Flash laughed and slipped away. Peter turned to MJ, who was trying to peer over the crowd herself. “I bet there are some people here from school who’d want to talk to you,” She told him over the pounding of the music. “If you wanted to?”

 

“Sure,” Peter agreed, running a hand through his hair, feeling a slight uptick in his anxiety. “Yeah. That’s what we’re here for, right? To talk to people.”

 

MJ was giving him a weird look, now. “You know, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Really. It was just a suggestion. If you want you and I can hang out over here.”

 

“No, seriously,” Peter insisted, flapping his hands at her. “It’s totally fine. I’m excited to see people again. You’re right— I seriously need some good, old fashioned teenage socialization time.” She seemed only partially soothed by his assurances. She gave him a long, speculative look, then a firm nod. 

 

“We’ll start you off slow,” she announced decidedly. “I’ll find someone cool who isn’t going to be weird about everything, and we’ll start there. Be right back.”

 

She didn’t give him time to object to being left there, disappearing between two bodies in the span of one second to the next. Wow, it was  _ really _ crowded in here. He made a mental note to suggest they find somewhere else to talk when MJ came back.

 

In the meantime, Peter’s eyes hopped through the crowd, taking in faces familiar and unfamiliar alike. A few names popped to mind as he recognized people from his classes and he made uncomfortable eye contact with two or three people, but that didn’t amount to much. Apparently his Misfortune Bubble was wide enough that they wouldn’t come talk to him when he was standing alone at a party.

 

Fair, honestly.

 

Luckily it didn’t take MJ long to return, towing a lanky, well-dressed boy behind her. “Peter,” She beamed at him, pulling the guy closer by the hand. Peter blinked, surprised. Were they… a thing? Did MJ have a boyfriend? “This is my friend Harry.”

 

Peter squinted, and Harry stared back at him, eyes widening almost comically. “Peter  _ Parker _ ?” He demanded, and MJ shot him a bemused look.

 

“Do you know each other?”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Peter could feel a smile stretching across his cheeks. “Harry Osborne, in the flesh! Man, it’s so good to see you!” Before he knew it he was moving forward, and then he and Harry were hugging, slapping at each other’s backs and laughing.

 

“It’s so good to see you!” Harry pulled back first, gripping Peter’s shoulders at arm’s length as he peered at him. “You’re so… grown up!”

 

“No kidding,” Peter scoffed. “We haven’t seen each other since middle school, of course I grew up. But it’s not like I’m the only one— look at  _ you _ , Harry, did you wear a blazer to a house party?”

 

Before Harry could defend himself, MJ leaned back in to the conversation. “So I guess that’s a yes,” She commented, a smile lingering around her eyes. “You  _ do _ know each other.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter grinned back at her, gesturing at Harry. “We were best friends, growing up. My parents knew his dad, so we spent a lot of time together as kids, and then my aunt and uncle did their best to let us keep hanging out after.”

 

“Your aunt and uncle—” Peter’s stomach dropped a little as Harry lit up. “How are they? Doing good?” MJ shot a panicked look at Peter, but he thought he did a remarkable job of acting normal.

 

“They passed away, actually,” He cleared his throat as Harry’s face fell. 

 

“Oh, Pete,” Harry’s hands fell back to his sides. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

 

“It’s okay,” Peter shrugged, forcing a smile back to his lips. “I’m okay. Things were… rough for a little while, but they’re better, now.”

 

“Who are you staying with, now?” Harry asked, and the way his forehead wrinkled between his eyebrows was new but the concern in his eyes was not.

 

“I’m emancipated, actually,” Peter offered, giving a little grin as the subject shifted to something more pleasant. “I have an apartment in Avengers Tower.”

 

“Seriously? I didn’t even know they had apartments in there. How can you afford that?”

 

“I work there,” Peter puffed up with pride. It may have been largely his connection to Tony that got him the job, Peter had to admit, but he’d proved his worth since then. His coworkers hardly resented him at all these days. 

 

“Peter gets research grants from  _ Tony Stark _ ,” MJ inserted, and yeah, now Harry looked  _ really _ impressed.

 

“Shit, Peter,” His face split with a grin and he crossed his arms. “I always knew you were smart, but I had no idea what I was dealing with back then, did I?”

 

“Shut up, you’re even smarter than I am,” Peter rolled his eyes pointedly. “Don’t act all modest just because MJ’s here. Speaking of which,” He turned to MJ. “How do you guys know each other?”

 

“Oh, well, we hang out with a lot of the same people,” She replied with a shrug, and Peter didn’t miss how her hand slipped into the crook of his arm. “We saw each other at parties a lot, and so we started talking, and now we’re friends. If I’d known about you two, I would have gotten all of us together a lot sooner!”

 

“You really dropped the ball on that one,” Peter agreed. “So much for  _ Ringmaster _ . I’m changing your name later. You’re just some lowly animal trainer.”

 

“How dare you,” MJ huffed, turning her nose up. “I just orchestrated this lovely reunion for you and  _ this _ is the thanks I get? The disrespect at this party is  _ outrageous _ .”

 

“Aw, Pete, why’d you have to go and upset her?” Harry snickered, patting comfortingly at MJ’s hand. “Surely you know by now that MJ is the grand puppetmaster in all our lives and even if this one thing managed to slip by her, she can still make your life a nightmare if you harass her about it.”

 

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended,” MJ admitted after a brief pause, shooting Harry a glance out of the corner of her eye.

 

“It’s probably best to take it as a compliment,” Peter suggested, and she acquiesced with a shrug and a nod.

 

“You’re probably right. After all, it’s pretty risky to make a statement like that as an insult.” She pulled her hand away from Harry, peering over the crowd. “I don’t know why I put up with you boys. I need a break. I’m gonna get us some drinks.” And before either of them had a chance to speak, she slipped away through the crowd, moving much more easily through the fluid sloshing of the crowd than Peter thought he could have managed, personally. It was impressive.

 

“So how do you and MJ know each other?” Harry prompted after a few moments of silence, managing to pick up the thread of the conversation before it got lost under the tramping feet of three hundred high school seniors and college freshmen.

 

“We know each other from school,” Peter answered, deciding on the vague answer for now. His parents  _ and  _ his aunt and uncle had already come up, he didn’t really want to bring up Gwen on top of all of that. He was already wearing  _ tragic orphan _ written on his forehead, having a dead girlfriend stapled to his shirt wasn’t going to help him act natural at this party. He decided to shift the focus away from himself. “Are you guys dating?”

 

“What?” Harry’s face flushed visibly even under the dim lighting in the house. “Peter— no, we’re not dating. We’re just friends. Why?” Peter suspected the gulp he saw in Harry’s throat would have been almost audible if not for the thumping bass of the song that was currently blasting over the speakers. “Did she  _ say _ that we’re dating?”

 

“Harry, I only just found out that you two even knew each other,” Peter pointed out. “When would she have had the chance to tell me that you were dating?”

 

“Right, right,” Harry’s eyes lifted to the ceiling as he laughed, openly embarrassed. “That was dumb. I guess I’m not exactly subtle about my opinion on the matter, huh?”

 

“She’s not too subtle, either,” Peter flashed a grin at him, eyebrows lifting. “Seems like you’ve got a shot.”

 

“Maybe,” Harry agreed, casting a thoughtful smile out towards the direction MJ had gone before his eyes abruptly darted back to Peter. “Nothing’s going on with you two, right? I don’t want to cut in if there’s anything there.”

 

“No,” Peter assured him firmly. “MJ and I really  _ are _ just friends. I dated her best friend, it would be weird to date her anyway.”

 

“Oh, okay,” Harry subsided, mollified. “So you don’t mind if I ask her out? I don’t want to make things weird between you guys, or between us.”

 

“Let me think,” Peter tapped at his chin thoughtfully. “You know, you two might be the only people in the world who are good enough for the other. I suppose I’ll give it my blessing.”

 

“Were you this dramatic when we were kids?” 

 

“Definitely,” Peter confirmed just as MJ reappeared, three bottles dangling from her fingers.

 

“I’m back,” She announced somewhat breathlessly, proffering the extras for Peter and Harry. “I hope you didn’t miss me too much.” 

 

“We were despondent without you,” Peter assured her.

 

“As is right and proper,” MJ agreed primly, twisting off the lid of her drink. Peter could smell the carbonation on the air and was relieved to realize it was sparkling water, not beer. He took a sip of his own and immediately wished for death.

 

Sparkling water. Ugh.

 

“Hey, Peter,” Harry had his phone in his hands. “Let’s exchange numbers. We should totally hang out again sometime soon.”

 

“Definitely,” Peter agreed, reciting his number for Harry. And by reciting, he really meant something more along the lines of shouting. It was really too loud in here for this kind of conversation. Harry must have realized it, too.

 

“Awesome,” Harry beamed at him. “I’ll text you, and we can meet up. All three of us, maybe?” He cast an askew glance towards MJ.

 

“Four,” she corrected. “Flash is around here somewhere. He should come too. You’d love him.”

 

“Sure, sounds great.” It was clear that they could all feel the conversation winding down from the way the awkward shifting was starting. “MJ— do you want to dance or something?” Harry offered, and she shot him a grin back, batting her eyelashes.

 

“I thought you’d never ask.” She looked back to Peter. “You’ll be okay here?”

 

“I’m a big kid,” Peter assured her with a snort, waving her off. “I think I can take care of myself for a while. You guys go ahead.”

 

“I’ll text you,” Harry promised, raising his eyebrows at Peter. 

 

“I’ll be glued to my phone,” Peter agreed dryly, and Harry smiled at him in a way that plucked at his memory before taking MJ by the hand and disappearing into the throng.

 

Harry Osborne, Peter thought with no small amount of gratification. That certainly wasn’t someone he’d thought he was ever going to see again.

 

Peter debated seeking out Flash, but he wasn’t sure if that would make him look uncool in front of his new college football friends, so instead he struck out into the party on his own. He was tempted to ditch his bottle of Absolute Garbage somewhere, but Peter was raised better than that, so he took another begrudging sip that made his lips curl in displeasure.

 

_ Ugh, _ sparkling water.

 

He could see some people he recognized, but he knew that as soon as he walked over there, they would want to know everything. They would want to hear about his aunt, and where he’d gone, and they would want to hear about Spider-Man, for months publicized to have murdered him. They would want to know if he really lived in Manhattan, in  _ Stark Tower _ , if he really did know Tony Stark. 

 

And sure, it was normal for them to want to know those things— he was basically a man of mystery, now, he thought with a wry grin. His life was absolutely insane and probably the best gossip so far this year. But… he found that he really, really didn’t want to deal with that right now.

 

At that moment, the music shut off abruptly and the lights switched off. There was a sudden uproar from the crowd, a disappointed curse mixed with squeaks of fright, and Peter felt his heart stutter in his chest before he took in a deep breath.

 

This wasn’t like before, he told himself, trying to count down from eight. Dmitri was behind bars, Montford was dead, and Doc Ock was in Ravencroft. Just because power had gone out in the house didn’t mean someone was out there doing something villainous. It was a blown transformer, or maybe an unpaid bill— there were a million explanations.

 

But the crowd around him was suddenly too much, and Peter couldn’t bear it. People were streaming out into the street by cellphone light, trying to get out into the open night air. He didn’t want to battle the crowd to make his way outside, so instead he bumped past a few stragglers that were coming from upstairs and made his way out onto the roof, where he could crouch unseen and collect himself.

 

It was easy to trace his way along the wall to the window, the house seeming suddenly quiet even with the shouting of the teenagers downstairs. There was no music, no quiet buzzing of lightbulbs, not even the near silent hum of powered-down electronics. The scrape of the window as he pushed it open was loud in his ears, and he was grateful to clamber out onto the roof, scrambling up and taking in the sounds of traffic and looking towards the Manhattan skyline.

 

It was dark.

 

Shingles crunched under Peter’s fingers as they abruptly constricted, and his breath caught in his throat. A city-wide blackout, his brain was screaming, spider sense thrumming even though there was no danger present. These things didn’t just  _ happen _ , he thought, on the verge of panic. The city had  _ contingencies  _ for things like this— were the different boroughs even on the same grid? This couldn’t be  _ happening _ .

 

“Peter?” He could hear someone calling from down below. “Are you out here?” His head was spinning, and he could feel himself shaking. Who was calling him?

 

Peter’s phone rang, and he fumbled with it, nearly hanging up by accident before he managed to accept the call and bring it up. His voice was reedy even to his own ears. “Hello?”

 

“Peter,” The voice caused a thrill of fear to go through him, even though he recognized it as Natasha’s.  _ Was _ it Natasha? “Where are you? Are you okay?”

 

“Code word,” Peter gasped out, sticking his phone to his fingers to make sure he wouldn’t drop it. He felt like he was floating away. “Say the code word.”

 

There was a brief pause that made his heart leap into his throat, but then she answered. “Antineutrino. It’s me, маленький паук. Where are you?”

 

“I’m—” Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “In Astoria. At a party.”

 

“Are the lights off, there?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter swallowed hard, coming back into himself a little. “Everything’s down.”

 

“Peter, are you okay?”

 

“I’m okay,” He replied, running his free hand over his face as he took a shuddering breath. “Everything’s fine. It just… surprised me. I’m okay.”

 

“You should come home,” Natasha said firmly, but Peter shook his head. 

 

“No,” He said firmly, pushing himself to his feet. “I need to look into this.”

 

“I’ll head over to the prison,” Natasha told him. “And I’ll have Steve contact the staff at Ravencroft. Tony will track the source of the outage: don’t worry, Peter. We’ll get him this time.”

 

Peter nodded sharply. “The last lab was in Manhattan,” Peter told her. “I’m going to head that way. Call me if you find anything out.”

 

“On it,” Natasha agreed, and the phone clicked off as she hung up. Peter glanced around, There were still a lot of people milling around, although the crowd was beginning to break up. It wasn’t difficult, though, to slip down the side of the building and emerge from the back yard. There he found MJ, Flash, and Harry all standing together, peering over the crowd. Looking for him, if the relief on their faces was anything to judge by.

 

“Pete,” MJ’s hand slipped into his. “There you are. You okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” He agreed quickly, “You guys?”

 

“Fine,” Flash agreed. “Have you seen Twitter? The power’s off all over town. I wonder what’s going on.”

 

They didn’t know, Peter realized. They  _ wouldn’t _ know. It never really got out, about the Avengers clones. They didn’t have any reason to think that it wasn’t just some issue with the city’s power grid.

 

Maybe it  _ was _ just an issue with the grid, Peter thought, rubbing at the back of his neck, but he didn’t trust that.

 

“I’d better get going,” Harry said apologetically, grimacing at MJ. 

 

“Yeah,” MJ agreed, pulling her hand away and gesturing towards Flash’s car. “It’s not safe to be out right now, we should all get home.”

 

“Do you have a ride?” Flash asked Harry, fishing his keys from his pocket. “I can take you— you live in Manhattan, right? I’m dropping Peter there anyway.”

 

“I’m good, actually,” Peter took a step back, and Flash’s eyebrows lifted. “I’ll get myself home.”

 

“Peter, what are you talking about?” MJ demanded, arms crossing. “Is the subway even going to be running right now?”

 

“Don’t worry about it, I uh, I have a ride.” Peter could see his friends gearing up for an argument, but the absolute bewilderment on Harry’s face made him grimace. “I’ll catch you guys later, okay? I’ll text you.” He turned and jogged away from them, letting the darkness eat him up as he left the halo of cellphone flashlights. He could still hear them calling after him in frustration, but he didn’t turn back. It was obnoxious of him to run off, sure, but they’d get over it. He didn’t have time to ride back to Manhattan with his friends: he needed to  _ move _ .

 

The dark made changing easy. In no time at all he’d swapped out his street clothes for the Spider-Man suit, and he launched himself into the air.

 

Big mistake,  _ big mistake _ , Peter thought as he slung himself haphazardly through the almost total darkness. There wasn’t much traffic here, so the only light he had to gauge his swings by was the moonlight, and it wasn’t nearly bright enough for this kind of maneuvering. Catching his hip against a roof didn’t much help his simmering nerves.

 

At least the monolith of the bridge was easy to see, a black stain against the dark blue sky. He was about halfway across when his phone rang again.

 

“Natasha?” He pressed it to his mask, letting it stick there so he could concentrate on swinging with both hands. “What’s the news?”

 

“Smerdyakov is still in his cell, right where he should be. I laid eyes on him myself,” Natasha assured him. “He seemed as clueless about this as the rest of us, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

 

“Right,” Peter grimaced, wondering if he should have gone over to the prison himself. Maybe he would have been able to get something from Dmitri. “Any word from Cap? Or Tony?”

 

“Nothing from Cap yet, but that’s not unusual. It will take him a little longer to get down there, if he wasn’t able to get through on the phones. Tony is making progress— if it is Warren, he’s covering his tracks very well. He’s confirmed that the source of the blackout is from lower Manhattan.” 

 

“I’ll be out there in a couple of minutes,” Peter replied, trying to focus on the chill wind against his body instead of the increasing anticipation. It felt more like nausea than anything else. If they caught him tonight, him and whatever clone he’d created, it would finally be over. It would all be over and he could truly put this behind him.

 

Peter’s spidey sense was so keyed up that he nearly panicked even as he dodged a bat that zipped across the road in front of him. How embarrassing.

 

“Peter—” Natasha’s voice was tense and determinedly contained when it came back over the comms. “Head to Canal street station. He’s very close to it. Underground, somewhere.”

 

“Classic,” Peter’s Spider-Man voice clicked on without conscious thought. “It’s always either a warehouse or underground. I’d call it cliche, but I guess they really don’t have a lot of options for real estate when their main hobbies include evil science experiments and blatant criminal activities.”

 

“True,” Natasha humored him by not calling him out on the switch. She was great like that. “Peter, wait for us when you get there. Don’t go in by yourself.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter hummed, spying the subway station on the street up ahead. “I know. But hurry, ok?”

 

“ETA fifteen seconds, Spider-Boy,” Tony’s voice cut in. 

 

“Natasha and I are in the jet,” Clint announced. “Don’t want to hit traffic on the way. Hope there’s somewhere to land, I don’t want to miss out on this.”

 

“Sorry, Peter,” Bruce spoke next. “I’m gonna have to sit this one out. The big guy won’t operate too well down in the subway.”

 

“That’s okay, Bruce,” Peter assured him. “How about Cap? And Bucky?”

 

“Almost to Ravencroft,” Steve assured him. “Buck’s with me— just in case.” Peter abruptly wondered how long everyone had been listening in to his conversation with Natasha. The thought was quickly replaced, though: even though his whole family wasn’t going to be a part of the fight, they were still there, still invested in this, still helping however they could.

 

“Thanks, guys.” Peter landed with a flip on the roof of the building directly next to the subway entrance. Tony landed next to him moments later, repulsors powering down and faceplate flipping open. People down below shouted, pointing upwards. Peter could only see them by the light of their cellphones.

 

“You ready for this, kiddo?” Tony asked, mouth set in a hard line.

 

“Ready,” Peter agreed, crouching down on the edge of the roof. “I’m so ready for this to be over.”

 

“Back to Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, huh?” Tony’s arms crossed. Peter could hear the jet approaching. 

 

“I’ve always been Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man,” Peter replied. “And I always will be. Just now… my neighborhood is the whole city. As the neighborhood watch, I can’t have supervillains running around, can I?” 

 

“True.” The jet came into sight and settled, surprisingly quietly, on top of one of the nearby buildings. It struck Peter as pretty illegal to do that. “Guess we’d better go pick them up. Don’t want them to have to take the elevator down.”

 

“Right, Peter agreed, and Tony’s repulsors powered up again as Peter launched himself forward off the building and swung up to where Natasha and Clint were waiting patiently.

 

“Hey, bud,” Clint slapped at Peter’s back as he landed. “How’d the party go?” He gave Peter a broad, goofy grin that should have been irritating, paired with the sarcastic question, but… well, it was Clint. Peter wasn’t convinced that he didn’t actually have a secret superpower where things that were normally annoying somehow came across as endearing.

 

It probably wasn’t the case, though, Peter acknowledged. He could still be pretty annoying sometimes.

 

“Awesome,” Peter replied dryly. He turned his back to Clint. “Hop on.”

 

“I’m not sure if this is more embarrassing or more awesome,” Clint complained as he wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck. Peter adjusted so that they were wrapped around his clavicle instead, then stuck them there so Clint wouldn’t accidentally strangle him.

 

“It’s definitely both,” Peter agreed, but didn’t give any more time for conversation as he leapt, swinging them both down to the street. The ringing in his ears from Clint’s shriek would probably take a minute to fade. Natasha and Tony both landed with somewhat more grace, but Peter decided to give Clint some leeway: he hadn’t exactly given him much warning.

 

Peter let go of Clint and they separated, following Tony down the stairs. Milling pedestrians gave them a wide berth: encountering superheroes on the street was exciting, sure, but encountering four superheroes completely geared up? Most New Yorkers would have the self preservation instincts to give them a bubble of at least a few feet. They usually didn’t allow much more than that, though, Peter admitted to himself.

 

“JARVIS,” Peter could hear Tony as his head scrolled from side to side. “Give me everything we’ve got: this place is probably hidden. Thermal, night vision, electric. We’re looking for anything usual.”’

 

“In the New York subway?” Peter prompted as the flashlight on Tony’s left shoulder lit up, lancing through the dark. “Might want to be more specific with your search parameters, Tony. You’re gonna find a lot of weird stuff before you find a secret villain lair.”

 

“Look, kid, we’re gonna have to have a talk about this, eventually,” Tony replied following whatever readings he was receiving down onto the tracks. “I’m the sassy, snarky one on this team, okay? You need to back off my schtick.”

 

“You, me,” Peter coutered. “Joke-off. Behind the Denny’s at three in the morning.”

 

“Kids are so weird,” Clint muttered to Natasha behind him, and Peter cracked a smile.

 

“You sound insane,” Tony informed him primly. “Focus up, would you? We’ve got work to do.” Peter snickered, letting the banter distract him from the fact that somewhere down this freaking pitch black tunnel, there was a confrontation he’d been waiting on for  _ way _ too long.

 

Miles Warren— by all accounts just a  _ guy _ , someone he could take down without an issue. There was probably a clone there, too, though: but who would it be? Another Avenger clone? Where would he have gotten more DNA from? Maybe it was one of the X-Men?

 

Or maybe, Peter allowed himself to hope, it was just a normal person. This was, as far as they knew, the first time Dr. Warren had created a clone since Dr. Octavius was working on them with him. Maybe he wanted to play it safe, make sure he could do it on his own before trying something more complicated. 

 

Yeah right. This was no doubt a resource exhaustive process, and Peter doubted that he would waste anything on a clone that he didn’t have a purpose for anymore.

 

But then again, Peter’s internal debate continued. He wasn’t working for Montford anymore. No one was paying him to create Avengers clones. Maybe he was just studying cloning. Maybe he was back to still immoral but overall less dangerous projects.

 

He’d find out soon, Peter realized as Tony stopped in front of a stretch of wall. It looked identical to the rest of the tunnel, as far as he could tell, but he didn’t question Tony’s readings for a moment.

 

“How do we get in?” Natasha murmured, close by Peter’s right shoulder.

 

“Tony could blast a hole,” Clint offered, but Tony shook his head.

 

“Not on the tracks,” he countered. “Too dangerous. There’s gotta be a way to get in. There’s definitely something back there. Pretty big heat signature.”

 

“Human?” Natasha prompted, leaving Peter’s side to begin investigating the tunnel, looking for an entrance. Her flashlight clicked on and Peter felt suddenly unprepared.

 

“Probably machinery of some kind,” Tony replied. “Maybe the cloning machine. I’m sure it puts out a lot of heat.”

 

“Here,” Clint’s voice was soft, but Peter turned towards him immediately. “I found something. I can’t get it open, though.” He was only a few feet down from the rest of them, fingers scratching against the tunnel wall.

 

“Let me see,” Peter prompted, and Clint stepped back, letting him come forward. He didn’t see anything unusual, he thought with a frown, but it could just be the low light. “Where?”

 

“Here,” Clint tapped against the wall and Peter placed his fingers there, sticking them firmly to the surface. Tony’s flashlight swung around towards them, then, and Peter could see the faint outline of a square, still barely visible. 

 

“How the heck did you see that?” Peter demanded, and Clint just snorted with amusement. Peter could see Natasha, out of the corner of his eye, raising a gun towards the stretch of wall where Tony was standing. The man himself followed suit, one gauntleted hand raising.

 

“Ready,” Tony announced, and Peter tugged. Nothing happened, at first, but Peter tried again, pulling harder, and the entire square popped off. He could see hinges and the remains of a broken lock clinging to the piece in his hand, but underneath was the real jackpot.

 

“A keypad,” Peter announced, Clint leaning close over his shoulder as together they peered at it. “Three, five, six and eight look worn down.”

 

“Five digits,” Clint gestured to the display. “So we can probably just guess it, don’t you think?”

 

Peter shook his head grimly. “No way, not if we want to get the jump on anyone who’s in there. You can make at least a thousand different five digit codes with four numbers.”

 

“That doesn’t sound right,” Clint shot him a skeptical glance.

 

“One thousand twenty four, I think,” Peter crossed his arms, not looking away from the keypad as he tried to puzzle out how to get past it. “If I had a screwdriver, maybe I could get in and open it…” He pressed his lips together, “Then again, it’s not like we need to be able to put it back together, probably.”

 

“Do what you gotta do, Spidey.” Natasha encouraged him, unwavering from her position by the hidden door, and Peter nodded.

 

“Okay. This feels absolutely sacreligious, though, I want that on the record.”

 

“Noted,” Tony agreed as Peter stuck his finger to the first screw, using his other hand to hold the panel steady as he ripped it free, breaking off pieces of the spiraling shape in the process. Sticky powers were incredibly useful, he thought fervently as he went after the others. In conjunction with super strength, especially, it was a very handy problem solver in way more situations than he would have at first assumed. 

 

“You know, I probably could have just pulled the door open,” Peter mused aloud as he fiddled with the inner workings of the lock. “That would probably have been easier than this.”

 

“Louder, too,” Clint pointed out. “It might have set off an alarm or something. Or maybe you would have broken the door and gotten debris on the tracks. If this works, it’ll definitely be worth the effort.”

 

“Too bad I don’t know anything about locks,” Peter scoffed, half considering ripping the wires out completely. He had no idea what he was doing. There were a few scuffling steps, and then Natasha, gun now holstered, was gently pushing him out of the way.

 

“Alright, whiz kid,” She said dryly, fingers dipping expertly into the wiring. “You go take my place and get ready for a fight. You, too, Clint. For all we know they already know we’re here.”

 

“Sure,” Peter agreed with a nod, grateful once again to have a team here to help him. If he was on his own… he never would have found this place. He hopped up onto the ceiling, skittering over to perch above Tony and ignoring Clint’s disparaging remarks about spiders and creepiness.

 

There was a long stretch of quiet, then, as Natasha worked at the lock. Or, at least, it  _ felt _ long— in reality it was probably only a minute or two, but the time seemed to stretch on without mercy.

 

Everything had been leading up to this, Peter thought, and he was suddenly terrified of all the things that could go wrong. Who had Dr. Warren cloned? A friend? An enemy? A threat, to be sure, no matter who it turned out to be.

 

The wall, with a clicking sound, slid inward, and then to the side, and the door was open. Red light spilled out into the tunnel, bathing all four of them in the dim glow. It was hot inside, Peter could already feel it. The smell of electricity was in the air, and when he sucked in a sharp breath he could taste the sharp tang of unfamiliar chemicals on his tongue.

 

Peter led the way.

 

He crept along the ceiling, listening for movement ahead while tuning out the quiet steps of his teammates. There was, somewhere here, the rumble of a generator that must be powering the place, but he didn’t immediately spot it amidst the tangle of machinery and cluttered countertops.

 

Peter could see well, from his vantage point on the ceiling. He could see the mini fridge in the corner, with a microwave plugged nearby, empty frozen meals scattered around it. He could see the cot, forming a border on the meager living space, and the open door to a cramped and empty bathroom.

 

He could see the lab tables strewn with old, crumbled blueprints and countless printouts that must have come from the sleek, high-tech looking printer that was surrounded by no fewer than three computers. Some papers were balled up, crumbled or torn in what was surely a fit of rage, a few carefully smoothed back out again.

 

He could see the centrifuge, and the empty tubes next to it. There were rows of incubators, there, but none of them were occupied. There were a few hot plates and one of the most expensive-looking microscopes Peter had ever seen, which was saying something considering that he worked at Stark labs, now.

 

He could see, most prominently, the still steaming platform that was emanating most of the heat in the room. He could see broken glass, there, and a fluid that he couldn’t begin to identify. There was a single red handprint and a smear of wet blood.

 

What Peter didn’t see was Dr. Warren. He didn’t see the clone. He didn’t see any lab techs, or bodies, or secondary exits.

 

His friends, down below, were coming to the same conclusion.

 

“No one’s here,” Clint spoke first, bowstring still pulled back tight to Clint’s ear as he peered behind a stack of equipment. 

 

“They must have left already,” Natasha replied, her voice chilled and flat. Peter could feel slivers of ice in his stomach.

 

“Did they know we were coming?” Tony demanded, clanking his way around the room, shuffling through papers with gloved hands. “How?”

 

“Dr. Warren probably knew he was pushing his luck,” Peter answered, dropping flat footed to the ground. “Creating another clone here. He knew that we’d been trying to track down his location, before, and now we might actually find him.”

 

“So he ran,” Natasha agreed, gun lowering as she turned to look at the computers. The screens were all black. He didn’t know if the power surge had fried them or if they’d simply gone to sleep. If Dr. Warren had been gone that long.

 

“He can’t be far,” Clint said, spinning to face them. “We had to have just missed him.”

 

“I can’t track him,” Tony’s voice was strained. Peter dropped into a crouch, head going into his hands. “With the power out, there won’t be any cameras that saw him. No pedestrian’s going to be able to ID him if he left in the dark.”

 

“It’s over,” Peter gritted out, and he could feel eyes on the back of his neck. “He got away.”

 

“Peter,” It was Bruce’s voice, gentle over the comms. “We’ll find him. He’ll slip up, and we’ll catch him.”

 

“Wherever he is, he’s working alone,” Steve agreed in Peter’s ear. “Octavius is still behind bars. Without Montford, Octavius, or the Chameleon, he probably doesn’t have anywhere to go. Not with a warrant out for his arrest. If he did, he would have gone before now.”

 

Peter pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to keep his emotions under control. He wanted to scream. He wanted to kick over the lab tables, to shatter the equipment on the concrete floor, to destroy the machine sitting innocuously against the wall that had haunted his steps for almost two years.

 

“Peter,” Bucky spoke over the buzzing between Peter’s ears. “Head on home. We’ll figure something out.”

 

The vibrations in his brain settled firmly in his arms, and Peter clenched his hands into fists, pushing himself to his feet.


	3. Same Old Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey, made it in time for October. Sorry for the long pause, yall, I'm still here, though. I'm very excited to get into the Meat of this story. This is the start of Act 2. (For reference, act 2 of TAA/TCBRRG was when Aunt May died, if that sweetens the pot for anybody)
> 
> I do wanna issue a content warning for this chapter (Spoiler, I guess, but nothing important): there's a brief scene where gunmen attempt to fire into a crowd. No one is hurt, but I know this can be a sensitive topic. If you want to skip that, you won't miss anything and you can stop reading at "LieslVonTrapp: Have fun on your date!" and pick back up at "Peter closed his eyes and he could hear police sirens nearby."

**October**

 

Peter came awake with a start, the rapid beeping of a nearby heart monitor accompanying his sharp inhale.

 

Opening his eyes, he could see that he was alone, clearly in the medical wing at the tower. He wouldn’t be alone long, he was sure. JARVIS would tell someone that he was awake any moment now, and the Avengers would come rushing in. They always did, he thought, letting his eyelids droop again. He was exhausted.

 

He flexed his fingers experimentally, checking for injury, and found none. The following experiment with his toes yielded similar results. Each muscle he painstakingly tested, squirming in the bed as he searched his body for any sudden pains, felt normal, if a little stiff. How long had he been lying here?

 

Peter propped himself up on his elbows as the door pulled open and Tony stepped inside, followed by Dr. Stone, his usual practitioner for situations like this. He gave them a weak grin, running a hand over the top of his head to check for his mask before waving.

 

“Hey, guys,” He shifted further upright with the help of the doctor— well, that was good. If he was in bad shape, she would keep him lying down. 

 

“Spidey,” Tony greeted him, clearly relieved to see him up. “Finally. We were really starting to get worried about you.”

 

“Really?” Peter rubbed at his head, trying to banish the lingering fog from what was, apparently, an even longer nap than he’d assumed. “How long was I out?”

 

“Nine hours,” Tony informed him, settling into the chair by the bed as Dr. Stone began taking his vitals. He was tapping away at a tablet in his lap.

 

“Nine hours?” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed with his confusion. “That’s just a good night’s sleep. What were you so worried about?”

 

“Well, the _poison_ , for one,” Tony’s flat reply startled Peter. “I don’t know what kind of elephant tranquilizer that guy hit you with, but you usually metabolize chemicals a lot faster than that.”

 

“Whatever it was,” Dr. Stone agreed, cutting in curtly as she popped a thermometer in Peter’s mouth. Peter wasn’t sure why that was necessary. He was pretty sure that JARVIS could monitor his body temperature. “It was dangerous. It would surely have been deadly to anyone else. We weren’t sure how it would affect you, after it rendered you unconscious for so long. Do you feel any side effects?” She prompted him, pulling the stick away and ejecting the plastic cover in one slick move. Doctors were cool, he thought a little enviously.

 

“Uh— a little lightheadedness, I guess. Kind of sore. What happened? I don’t remember.” Peter’s hand went back to his head. Had he gotten some kind of head injury that had healed up while he slept?

 

“That’s not completely unexpected,” Dr. Stone assured him. “The drug could very well have had some kind of amnesiatic properties.”

 

“Great,” Peter huffed, leaning back against his pillows. “So who got me?”

 

“We’re not sure,” Tony’s mouth curled with distaste at the admission. “He got away before we managed to get to you. At least you kept your damn tracker on you this time.”

 

“Yeah.” Peter grimaced. “Did you get any footage of the fight? Maybe it’s somebody I’ve seen before. Although I can’t think of a whole lot of times that I’ve been poisoned.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “Just the one, really, and if the Chameleon is out of prison, we’ve got bigger problems.”

 

“I don’t think it was the Chameleon,” Tony assured him, turning the tablet screen towards Peter. “We checked on him as soon as we heard. Knew you’d want to make sure.”

 

“Good,” Peter agreed, watching the traffic cam footage of him fighting… some guy. It wasn’t very clear, but Peter was pretty sure he’d remember a guy that flamboyantly dressed. Where did someone even get big game furs like that in New York City? Seemed like the kind of thing that someone would have to hunt—

 

Peter sat upright in the bed, nearly knocking Dr. Stone away from where she was taking his blood pressure. He shot her an apologetic look before turning back to Tony. “Kraven,” He said, jabbing a finger towards the tablet. “Dmitri’s brother. He warned me that he was in town, and that he was after me.”

 

“JARVIS?” Tony prompted, and the screen flickered, shuffling through files too rapidly for Peter to spy much more than a keyword here or there. But after a few scant seconds, it settled on a file and pulled up a face. It was completely unfamiliar to Peter, but it could reasonably have been the guy in the footage.

 

“Sergei Kravenoff,” JARVIS announced. “Former SHIELD agent.”

 

“SHIELD?” Peter asked, startled. “SHIELD is coming after me? Why?”

 

“I don’t know,” Tony’s voice was hard, and he was already flipping through the files, scanning the contents. “Maybe they aren’t. This does say he retired six years ago— he _shouldn’t_ have any affiliation with them anymore. Maybe he’s a mercenary? I’d ask if you have any enemies that might have it out for you, but I already know the answer to that.”

 

Peter grimaced. “Well, we can probably rule out the Chameleon. He’s the one that _warned_ me about him.”

 

“Unless he wants you to think he’s not involved,” Tony shot him a pointed look, and Peter shrugged, relenting.

 

“I guess that’s true,” He agreed. It wouldn’t be outside of what Peter had come to expect of him, after all. He was a master manipulator. “But Dmitri’s always…” He hesitated. It felt weird to admit it, especially to Tony. “The Chameleon always seems to want me around, you know? I can’t believe that he’d flip the script and decide to kill me instead.”

 

“Maybe.” Tony pulled up a series of photos— Kraven posing, grinning smugly, with big game animals. Peter’s stomach curled in distaste. “But what the hell does a guy like this want with you? Retired good guys don’t typically turn around and start ambushing superheroes.”

 

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted, feeling somewhat baffled himself. “I guess I’ll… keep an eye out, see if he pops up again. Maybe it was a fluke.”

 

Tony snorted. “Yeah,” He agreed flatly. “ _Maybe_.”

 

“Okay, Spidey,” Dr. Stone spoke up, patting him on the shoulder. “Vitals are looking good. We did some blood work about an hour ago— hope you don’t mind— and it seems like the chemicals are flushed almost completely out of your system. So as far as I’m concerned, you’re free to go. Just let me know if you encounter any side effects. Dizziness, fatigue, reduced or increased appetite, any changes to your powers. Anything. Deal?”

 

“Deal,” Peter agreed, nodding quickly, and Dr. Stone gave him a quick smile and a bracing squeeze on the shoulder before excusing herself.

 

“Really, kid,” Tony leaned forward, giving him a hard look. “Are you feeling okay?”

 

“Fine,” Peter agreed, stretching as he swung his feet to the floor. Honestly it seemed to him like he’d just gotten a good night’s sleep. Guess those villains could be good for something every now and then after all, he supposed, then internally cringed. Yikes, he probably shouldn’t joke about that. “I feel like a new man,” He assured Tony, who was still eyeing him skeptically.

 

“Fine, fine,” Tony flicked the tablet display off and stood, clearing out of the way so Peter had room to climb out of the bed. “But I’m keeping an eye on you.”

 

“What else is new?” Peter teased, pulling his phone from its compartment as he good naturedly pushed past Tony on his way to the door. There were a few messages there.

 

**JohnnyCashsWorldFamousRingofFire: Hey spidey! We still on for tonight?**

**JohnnyCashsWorldFamousRingofFire: Ignoring me? Classy**

**JohnnyCashsWorldFamousRingofFire: Ok now I think youre trying to annoy me**

**JohnnyCashsWorldFamousRingofFire: Dude did you break your phone where are you??**

 

Peter frowned, surprised to find the messages from a name he didn’t recognize. Who on earth did he have plans with tonight? He didn’t remember setting anything up. Scrolling up, he was surprised to find a significant number of messages that he didn’t recall sending. Was this all from the few hours before the fight? He checked the date.

 

He didn’t realize he’d stopped until Tony ran into him from behind. “Move it, kid,” Tony scoffed, jostling his shoulder, but when Peter turned to face him, phone outstretched, his face fell into a frown. Peering at the screen, he raised an eyebrow. “Oh, right, you mentioned Storm was coming over,” he agreed, giving Peter a look. “Not feeling up to it?”

 

“October eleventh?” Peter asked, voice cracking once before shifting abruptly into levity. Tony was really beginning to look concerned, now. “But it’s August, right?”

 

“Shit,” Tony hissed, grabbing Peter by the shoulder and steering him back to the hospital bed. Peter went willingly. “JARVIS, get Dr. Stone back in here, would you? Looks like this amnesia’s going back a lot further than we thought.”

 

Peter sat on the bed, scrolling through the messages on his phone in all his different chats. Hundreds of messages he didn’t remember with just about everyone he spoke to. His heart was pounding too hard in his chest. He remembered going to the prison, but the next thing he knew… he was waking up here.

 

Dmitri had to be involved somehow, Peter admitted to himself as Dr. Stone submitted him to a new battery of tests. Dmitri was the last thing he remembered. That had to mean something, right?

 

But Dmitri had warned him. Maybe it was Kraven who was to blame. After all— it was apparently Kraven’s doing in the first place. It was Kraven who had delivered the poison. Did he have any enemies that specialized in chemicals like that? Doc Ock could potentially have created it, but he didn’t know how he would have had the chance, locked up as he was.

 

It was kind of scary, not remembering the last few hours, but at least he had evidence that he came out of it okay. But if two months of his memory had disappeared into the void, what could have happened to him in that time? What didn’t he remember?

 

What if it was something important?

 

“Well the good news,” Dr. Stone was telling him. “Is that your memories didn’t just _disappear_. They don’t leave your brain entirely, and you could very well get them back. Read through any messages you got, look at your internet history, have people in the tower fill you in on things that happened. Anything could jog a memory. I would think the amnesia would be less firm the farther back you go, so try finding out what happened right after. I think it’s very possible that you’ll be able to remember some things with time.”

 

“Okay,” Peter agreed, fingers curled tight around his phone. “I will. Thanks, doc.”

 

“Good luck,” She told him gently, rubbing his back sympathetically as he stepped into the elevator, Tony at his side. She was watching him carefully, and he was relieved to have the elevator door shut between them. Being in the silent elevator with Tony, however, wasn’t much better. He didn’t seem to know what to say, so he was staring doggedly up at the floor number display high on the wall. The awkwardness was oppressive. JARVIS switched on some quiet background music, which really only drew further attention to the discomfort they were both feeling.

 

The elevator doors opened onto the communal floor, and Peter was suddenly overcome with an intense desire to _not_ subject himself to his teammate’s fussing right now. 

 

“I think I’m gonna go out for a while,” He announced, and Tony, half out of the elevator, shot him a startled look.

 

“What? Spidey, you just got out of medical,” Tony objected. “Did you forget that you were just poisoned?”

 

Peter stared at him silently, and it only took a moment for Tony to wince, realizing what he’d said.

 

“Shit, sorry, kid. Still, I don’t really think that’s a good idea.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Peter assured him. “I need to get out for a little while.” Peter could see the realization on Tony’s face. 

 

“Can’t you just tinker in your lab for a day like a _normal_ person?” Tony complained, and Peter snorted, giving his shoulder a gentle push to force him the rest of the way out of the elevator.

 

“I don’t think anything you do will ever count as normal, Tony,” Peter corrected him, arms crossing as he shook his head. “Especially not _that_ particular coping mechanism.”

 

“Fair enough,” Tony conceeded, but his eyes stayed firmly on Peter’s mask as the elevator doors shut primly between them.

 

“Where to, Mr. Spider-Man?” JARVIS asked politely, but Peter could feel the elevator moving already. JARVIS already knew all his preferred points of egress.

 

“The flight deck is fine, thanks, JARVIS,” Peter answered, looking back down at his phone for the short duration of the ride. His fingers hovered over the screen as he considered texting back JohnnyCashsWorldFamousRingofFire— clearly Johnny Storm. It wasn’t that he was necessarily _surprised_ that they’d apparently become friends who actually hang out together outside of crime scenes, but… he supposed he’d just expected to remember it.

 

It would be awkward, he thought despondently as the elevator doors opened again, trying to explain. Johnny would no doubt feel pretty crappy that Peter had forgotten about him. Or— not _about_ him, precisely, but about their friendship. That really sucked.

 

He’d forgotten several other meetups with other friends, he was disappointed to find. It didn’t make sense to feel left out, but when he read the messages leading up to him and MJ and Flash going to the mall after she got out of school, it was hard to tell himself that. Harder, still, was discovering Harry Osborne’s phone number in his messages. They hadn’t gotten far, as far as any text conversation went, but when had he gotten it? Who had given it to him?

 

Kitty had visited? Why couldn’t he remember?

 

This sucked.

 

Peter tucked his phone away as he leapt off the edge of the flight deck, flipping out into the air. It was late afternoon, but the crisp air of the city didn’t seem to be working its usual magic on him. He was weighed down by the lead in his belly, dragged into swinging low and slow through the streets, eschewing his usual breakneck, daredevil flips and tricks between the looming buildings.

 

He couldn’t remember what had happened in the last _two months_ , he thought, only barely paying attention to the shouts of the people down below. The thought lingered in his brain, dissolving into a salty dread that seeped out of his veins and out to his skin.

 

Should he go see Dmitri?

 

The thought rose, unbidden, and he grimaced. On one hand, he might have answers. He might know what was used against Peter, who had used it, what could be done to remedy its effects. But on the other hand, seeing him was always something of a mixed bag. As helpful and friendly as he tended to be, he could be frustratingly recalcitrant about the things that _really_ mattered.

 

Although, Peter admitted to himself with a groan, snatched away from his lips with barely an audible trace by the wind. Dmitri _had_ tried to warn him about Kraven. Had he given him any other words of warning the past two months? There was really only one way to find out.

 

Peter reached out to snag his fingertips against the glass panes of a window, body jerking sharply at the sudden change in momentum. It pulled at his shoulder, shocking the air out of his body for a few moments as he scampered up the side to crouch on the lip of the yawning gap between buildings.

 

They seemed suddenly so far away, Peter thought, still struggling to catch his breath. Growing wider, the ground dipping sharply away as the cars beeped at each other down below. The poison, Peter thought, struggling to breath as he staggered back from the ledge. A secondary effect?

 

No, he realized, yanking the mask up to free his nose and mouth, pressing his face against the gritty rooftop. No, a panic attack. He was panicking. He was… he was.

 

Peter pressed both hands to his mouth, trying both to curb his hyperventilation and muffle the sound of his reedy gasps. He scrambled for the scattered pieces of his composure, grateful even as he had a full-fledged freakout on some random rooftop that he wasn’t doing this in front of the Avengers. As supportive as they were, he still hated having them see him like this.

 

He hated letting anyone see him like this. He was _Spider-Man_ , he shouldn’t be doing this.

 

That’s not fair to yourself, he could practically hear Bruce telling him with a frown. He wouldn’t think that of anyone else.

 

Maybe not, Peter agreed, still fully resentful. But Bruce was a real person. Steve was a real person. Bucky was a real person. All of the Avengers— they were real people with real problems that affected their real lives. Spider-Man was _fake_ , he was a construct that didn’t exist until Peter made him up. Spider-Man was just the mask. Spider-Man should be stronger than this.

 

Peter flopped down onto his stomach on the roof, the labored breaths of his panic fading away. They were replaced with a disquieted grumbling as he ran a hand over the top of his mask, wishing he could take it off, but nowhere outside was ever really safe to do that, no matter how high up or seemingly secluded. 

 

He definitely should have changed if he insisted on coming out, Peter realized with a grimace. He’s been wearing the full suit all day, and it was… kind of gross feeling, by now.

 

“Hey Spidey,” A voice chirped from nearby, and Peter didn’t manage to salvage his cool in time to not jump out of his skin at the sudden interruption. “Whatcha up to up here?”

“Deadpool?” Peter pushed himself to his feet, surprised to find Deadpool climbing onto the roof from the fire escape. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I asked you first,” Deadpool reminded him, approaching with a swagger that said he’d just done something that Peter probably didn’t want to know about. 

 

“Nothing,” Peter answered, turning away to peer over the edge of the building. The road stayed firmly in place, he was relieved to find. That made it easy to swing his legs over the side, settling down as Deadpool joined him, legs swinging freely out into the air. “Just… out.”

 

“Mmm,” Deadpool agreed, fumbling a paper bag from one of his many pouches. “Sunflower seeds?” Peter shot him a glance, feeling a knot of tension ease in his chest despite himself. 

 

“Um— no thanks.” Deadpool shrugged and tugged up his own mask, popping a handful of seeds in his mouth and proceeding with the conversation like that wasn’t a totally disgusting thing to do. 

 

“As far as what I’m doing,” Deadpool waved his empty hand, words distorted by his snack. “I saw you swing by and thought I’d see if I could catch up. It’s been a while!”

 

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, looking out away from Deadpool. He could see the two of them reflected in the windows across the street, but at least he couldn’t see Deadpool chewing from that far. “How long?” He asked tentatively, worried that the answer might be shorter than he was aware.

 

Deadpool hummed, fingers tapping against the roof as he considered. “Has to be three or four months, right? I haven’t been in NYC since the last time I saw you. Traveling.”

 

Peter’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Three months,” He sighed, tipping his head back. Deadpool was quick to catch on to his weird mood, if the look he was giving Peter was any indication.

 

“You missed me that much, huh? Can’t say I’m not flattered,” He elbowed Peter. “You coulda called if you really wanted to. Your BFF DP is always down to shoot the shit.”

 

Peter elbowed him back. “Oh, shut up. I didn’t _miss_ you. I’ve got my own stuff going on.”

 

“Yeah?” Deadpool prompted, and Peter realized immediately that Deadpool had, in just one move, maneuvered Peter into a place where he admitted something was wrong. Now he was ripe for the prying. _Shoot_.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Pool,” Peter grimaced, turning his face away.

 

“Aw, don’t clam up on me now,” Deadpool was pouting, Peter could tell even without looking at him. “Tell your good buddy what’s going on. I won’t tell a soul. Mum’s the word and all that.”

 

“It’s not a big deal,” Peter felt his resolve weakening though. It wasn’t like it was necessarily a _secret_ , what had happened. It just felt weird to talk about. He just knew that Deadpool was going to have some kind of huge overblown reaction. “I just… I just woke up like, an hour ago from a fight. I lost, I guess,” Peter shot Deadpool a glance and found that though he now had the rapt attention of his companion, he was still chewing on those freaking sunflower shells. Ugh.

 

“That’s rough, buddy,” Deadpool agreed, nodding, and Peter cracked a reluctant smile. “Who’d you get ganked by?”

 

“Some guy. Sergei Kravenoff, I guess.” Peter knocked his heels against the wall, letting the solidity comfort him, but Deadpool’s sharp intake of breath delivered a spike of anxiety anyway.

 

“Oh, shit, Kraven the hunter?” Deadpool blinked at him, leaning forward. “What the hell did you do to get on _his_ bad side?”

 

“You know of him?” Peter prompted, twisting to face Deadpool. “All I know about him is that he’s Dmitri’s brother, or something.”

 

“Is he? Huh, small world.” Deadpool finally spit the shells from his seeds over the edge of the roof— wow, gross— and pulled his mask back down. “He’s a mercenary, I know him through the usual circles. He doesn’t take too many jobs, only the ones he thinks will be difficult enough for him. I haven’t heard about a hit on you, though. Not since the one I took, anyway.” He winked, somehow, and Peter rolled his eyes behind the safety of his own mask. “So I wonder if he’s after you for his own satisfaction?”

 

“What do you mean? Because I got Dmitri put in jail?”

 

“Maybe,” Deadpool shrugged. “But to be honest, I think he might be in it for the challenge.”

 

“You really gotta give me some elaboration on this one, ‘Pool,” Peter prompted, exasperated.

 

“Aw, come on, Pete, where’s your sense of dramatic flow?” Deadpool elbowed him lightly, snickering. “I don’t want to just be an infodump. Heavy-handed exposition is terrible and we all know it.”

 

“Great,” Peter dropped his head back, exasperated. What was Deadpool even talking about? “You’re in one of your impossible moods.”

 

“Alright, alright, keep your britches on,” Deadpool waved a hand in defeat. “Long story short, here’s my theory: Kraven’s a big game hunter, right? But he’s gotten too good at it. He’s not having fun hunting Dorothy’s anthropomorphized pals anymore.”

 

“What?”

 

“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!”

 

“Those weren’t her friends, DP, those were things they were afraid of. She hadn’t even met the Cowardly Lion at that point.”

 

“Peter, I’m really gonna need you to get all the way off my back about this.”

 

“Geeze, fine, continue.”

 

“Okay,” Deadpool took a steadying breath, then turned back to Peter. “So what I’m saying is that he’s moved from the Wizard of Oz onto The Most Dangerous Game.”

 

“Big step up,” Peter commented, frowning, and Deadpool nodded.

 

“Especially considering you’re not exactly the average guy,” Deadpool assured him. “Stay on your toes, and you’ll catch this guy in no time.”

 

“I don’t know,” Peter looked down at his lap, arms crossing over his chest. “Kraven’s clearly not an average guy either. He nearly got me.”

 

“No kidding?” Deadpool leaned back, openly surprised. “What happened?”

 

“Ugh, I don’t know,” Peter groaned, head tipping back now. “I can’t remember. Apparently he hit me with some kind of tranquilizer that actually _worked_ on me, and I passed out and can’t remember anything.” Even he couldn’t deny that it was pretty pathetic, how glum he sounded. “I can’t remember anything since August, actually.”

 

“Fuck,” Deadpool let out a long exhale. “That’s wild. I guess he would have had access to something like that. Actual elephant tranqs or something, who knows.”

 

“I guess.” Peter drew up one knee so he could prop his chin against it. “That makes sense. But I guess I just don’t really understand how he got the drop on me. That seems like something my spidey sense should have caught.”

 

“He’s good,” Deadpool nodded slowly. “Well, I’ll tell you what, Spidey. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and see what I can find out. I don’t really run into him, much, but we run in the same circles, so I should be able to find something out for you. I’ll see if I can find out what his intentions are, what he used, if anybody’s got a bounty out on you.”

 

“Thanks, Pool,” Peter shot him a grimace. “I appreciate that.”

 

“What can I say? I’m a hell of a pal.” Deadpool’s returning grin lightened Peter’s spirits a little despite himself.

 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Peter warned him with a snort, rolling down to crouch against the side of the building. “I think I’m gonna go find some crime to fight or something. Sitting around not doing anything is gonna give me hives. You wanna come?”

 

“I really wish I could, bud,” Deadpool saluted him, climbing back up onto the roof. “But it’s gonna be prime time over at the ol’ schoolhouse soon, and I gotta get across town if I want to sit around woolgathering all night. Thanks for the invite though.”

 

“Sure,” Peter gave him a little wave, feeling better than when he’d gotten here. Deadpool was good for that, he had to admit. Deadpool could be annoying or frustrating at times, but he was pretty dang good at cheering Peter up. “Take care.”

 

“You know it,” Deadpool flashed Peter a thumbs up, then turned and vanished over the lip of the building, back towards the stairs. At least he wasn’t trying to jump down, Peter thought with relief, swinging away.

 

Well, where to go? First thought would be Queens, but he didn’t think it would be wise to stray too far from home, right now. Maybe Hell’s Kitchen? There was always someone causing trouble _there_ — but then again, he didn’t know how much Daredevil would appreciate Peter butting in there. He’d managed to go through the neighborhood undetected a few times, but that didn’t mean his luck would continue forever. Sure, Peter continued to argue with no one. Sure, Daredevil had been civil to him the couple of times that they’d happened across each other, but Peter hadn’t actually been _crime fighting_ at the time. Not in the patrolling-and-punching kind of way, at least. Nah, he’d better play it safe and not head out that way.

 

Peter swung north, instead, heading for Central Park. It was still light out, but he bet that he could put a stop to a couple of crimes out that way anyway. Only a short way from home, close to reinforcements, but still enough busywork to keep his mind occupied. And, hey, if Kraven showed up again, he would have plenty of directions in which to escape.

 

...Geeze, after that cheerful thought, the space between the buildings here was suddenly feeling a mite claustrophobic.

 

Peter entered the park, swinging high as he broke free of the cityscape to launch himself farther into the park. The trees were much easier to swing from these days than they used to be, thanks to the whole Jungle-fy Central Park shenanigans from a few years ago. The park had been trimmed back significantly since then, but there wasn’t much to be done about the trees aside from removing the vines and all the weird, creepy bugs.

 

Thanks to that, when he found the stage set up out on the greens, it gave him plenty of room to observe. Elsie Fest, the signs proclaimed, and Peter hummed thoughtfully. That was a Broadway thing, right? He wondered if MJ was here somewhere. This seemed like the kind of thing that she would love. He pulled his phone free of its pouch.

 

**LieslVonTrapp: Hey mj! Did you get tickets to elsie fest**

**DancingQueen: Parker, what do you take me for? Of course I did**

**DancingQueen: But sorry I don’t have any extra tickets if that’s why you’re asking**

**LieslVonTrapp: Nah i was just curious**

**LieslVonTrapp: I saw that it was going on today and just wanted to verify that you were going… figured youd be pretty bummed if you werent**

 

The next time his phone buzzed it was a selfie, MJ beaming into the camera, Harry leaned close to squeeze into frame with her. Interesting.

 

**LieslVonTrapp: Are you guys on a date?**

**DancingQueen: No!!!**

 

Read: yes.

 

**DancingQueen: We’re just hanging out!**

**LieslVonTrapp: Weird I dont remember Harry having a burning passion for musical theater**

Wait, crap, was that something Peter had learned in the memory gap? He grimaced. What he _remembered_ wasn’t exactly reliable right now.

 

**DancingQueen: Yeah well!!!**

**DancingQueen: Mind your own business, Parker!**

**LieslVonTrapp: Methinks the lady doth protest too much**

**DancingQueen: It’s the lady doth protest too much, methinks**

**DancingQueen: Jerk**

**LieslVonTrapp: Have fun on your date!**

 

Peter tucked his phone away, feeling pretty pleased with himself up until the moment his spider sense burst to life in the back of his head. He saw the dark gunmetal passing below him right before the first scream rang out.

 

For a few bizarre moments, the sound of screams mingled with the cheery showtune that was coming from the stage before the music abruptly shut off and Peter’s heart leapt into his chest as he dropped out of the tree onto the first of the three gunmen.

 

There was a shout of surprise as Peter’s feet planted firmly against his shoulders, driving him to the ground as the other two whipped around to face him. That was good, Peter thought, somewhat hysterically. If they focused on him, they wouldn’t be shooting into the crowd.

 

As if in slow motion, Peter could see them lifting guns towards him, taking aim, and Peter dropped low. He launched himself forward, against the second man’s knees, throwing him to the ground as well. The third had time to shoot, but hesitated with Peter all tangled up in his friends like that. Peter snagged the barrel of the gun and yanked it downwards as the trigger finger squeezed, sending a spray of bullets into the ground, miraculously missing Peter and the shooter’s feet both.

 

Peter scrambled back to his feet as the world sped up again, and he could hear the first guy pushing himself up, too. He took the scant seconds he had to yank the gun out of his current opponent’s hands and toss it up into the tree, webbing it high in the branches.

 

“Damnit,” The gunman hissed, throwing a punch that Peter dodged. The crowd was still bubbling too nearby, trying to get away faster now that shots had been fired, but the crush of people could only move so quickly, barricaded in as they were. Peter’s mouth was dry.

 

By now all three shooters were back on their feet, and Peter spun to face the ones that still had guns and got a boot to the back of his knee for his troubles, making him wobble. The butt of a gun slammed across the side of his face and he grunted, staggering to the side. They were taking aim again.

 

“Thought Spider-Man was usually chattier than this,” the first man commented, voice gruff and smirking. “What’s the matter, guy? Cat got your tongue?”

 

Peter couldn’t speak. Instead he whipped back around and threw a punch of his own that sent the man sprawling, gun flying from his hands. Peter didn’t have time to secure it, though, because the last guy with a weapon was shooting, and Peter had to dodge. A bullet grazed the side of his thigh, but that was, thankfully, the closest any of them had gotten so far.

 

Peter was cold and his hands were sweating. He reached out to grab at the gun, the shooter rearing back to avoid him, but Peter’s fingers snagged on it and that was enough. He stuck to it and pulled, flinging it up into the branches with the other. It snagged there between two branches, but Peter shot a spray of webbing up anyway just to be sure.

 

The third gun had been picked back up, and the guy slammed it hard against his ribs, knocking the breath out of him, but Peter grabbed at it on instinct and twisted, sending the gunman flying into the last man standing, knocking them both into a tangle of limbs on the ground that was easily secured with a thick coating of web.

 

Peter webbed the other guy to the ground for good measure, breathing shallowly.

 

It was okay, he told himself, fumbling his phone from its compartment. There were no new messages from MJ. But that was okay. She was probably still running away. No one had gotten hurt. Not even one bullet had made its way into the crowd. The whole exchange had taken maybe two minutes— the festivalgoers were still nearby. If he turned his head to the left he could see them, crowded near the stage, trying to escape that way.

 

Peter closed his eyes and he could hear police sirens nearby. He let out a breath.

 

“This is Rebecca Leery, reporting live from Central Park,” Someone was saying, urgent and excited, and he opened his eyes to find a person standing with her back to him, a bright light on his face. There was a camera aimed at him and he could see more reporters converging. “Where Spider-Man has just halted a trio of active shooters in their tracks.” She spun to face him, thrusting the microphone into his face, and Peter suddenly realized he was, one, completely shell shocked, and two, on live television for the first time. “Spider-Man, can you tell us what happened here?”

 

“Uh,” Peter blanked, leaning away from the microphone. The reporter didn’t miss a beat, crowding up next to his side to fit them both into frame.

 

“Spider-Man, you just prevented a mass shooting. Did you know that this was going to happen here tonight?” There were more cameras pointed at him now. 

 

“No, I didn’t,” Peter swallowed, not sure if he could gracefully remove himself from this situation. “I just happened to be nearby.”

 

“And thank God for that,” Rebecca said, her face firm and pale. “Spider-Man, can you identify these three criminals?” He could see cameras panning over the webbed forms on the ground.

 

“No, I don’t know who they are,” Peter was still trying to get his head on straight. He hoped his voice wasn’t shaking. “I’m not sure you should be filming them, though, at least until the police get here?” He could see lights, blue and red, coming up fast. There were a lot of them. Peter took a step away from the reporter. “I’d better get going—”

 

He threw up his arm, planning on making his getaway, but then a shooting star slammed into the ground next to him. Peter jumped back, startled, and saw the reporters doing the same— but then the flame died and standing there was Johnny Storm, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

 

“Hey, Spidey,” He greeted him, flashing a grin that didn’t replace the startled look so much as covered it up. “Good work.”

 

“Oh, Torch,” Peter took the opportunity to turn away from the cameras. “Hey.”

 

“Well this explains why you didn’t answer my texts, at least,” Johnny said, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You ready to get going?”

 

“Yes,” Peter agreed emphatically, not sure where Johnny intended to take him but absolutely willing to take the out. “Absolutely. Lead the way.” Peter twisted his face away as Johnny flamed back on, launching into the sky, and Peter threw himself after him without so much as a glance back at the reporters.

 

Johnny took an arching, looping path through the city that struck Peter as someone lackadasical and had the pleasant effect of soothing his frayed nerves. He checked in with MJ and Harry— both fine— and let the chilled night air rush over him as Johnny flew around him, lighting his way.

 

They ended up, with a little effort, at the Statue of Liberty.

 

“I’ve never thought to come out here before,” Peter gaped out over the city skyline, beautiful and lit up in the falling night. He saw Johnny giving him a weird look in his periphery.

 

“What?” His arms crossed and he tilted his head at Peter. “What are you talking about.”

 

“I just mean that it’s beautiful,” Peter replied defensively, arms crossing as he leaned against the railing of the torch. “And it’s not like I can get out here without someone I can hitch a ride with.”

 

“Spidey, we come here all the time,” Johnny snorted, like Peter was telling a joke he didn’t understand, and Peter’s good cheer faded again.

 

“Oh,” He looked away from Johnny again and out towards the sparkling lights of New York. They seemed somewhat less friendly, now. “Right.”

 

“Spidey, is everything okay? Is this about those guys at the concert?” Johnny leaned on the rail next to him, shoulder to shoulder with Peter. He was warm. “I saw it on the news from the Baxter building, that’s terrifying. You did a good thing; nobody got hurt.”

 

“I guess,” Peter agreed, frowning. “I guess it’s just… I’m used to fighting supervillains and stuff. Guys with crazy powers, wacky plots, mysterious motives, you know? It all feels like it’s… one step removed from reality. Like it doesn’t count. It’s… scary, dealing with something like that. If I hadn’t been there, there would have been a massacre today. And I can’t be there every time.”

 

“You can’t take on the responsibility for every life in this city,” Johnny scolded him. “The best that you can do is the best that you can do. You stopped a shooting today. It doesn’t matter if there are three others that happen tonight. There would have been four if not for you.”

 

“It matters if I _can_ stop those other three,” Peter muttered resentfully, and Johnny bumped against his shoulder with an unexpected familiarity. 

 

“Spidey, you’ve got to stop worrying so much. You’re a great superhero and you’re doing everything right. Stop trying to find things that are wrong to pick at. That’s how you end up a supervillain.”

 

“I guess.” Peter propped his chin against his fist, sighing noisily. “I guess there’s something else that I should tell you.”

 

“Yeah?” Johnny prompted him, fingers splaying against the darkening backdrop of the ocean below. Peter watched those hands as he talked.

 

“I’ve got retrograde amnesia. I don’t remember the last couple of months.”

 

“Oh,” Johnny was audibly surprised, but Peter didn’t look up at his face. “Like… anything from the past few months?” Peter shook his head and Johnny made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. “That… sucks, Spidey. I’m real sorry to hear that. What happened?”

 

“Fight gone wrong,” Peter shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, I, surprise, can’t remember it. I just thought I should let you know, since… you know, based on the messages you sent it sounds like we’re kind of good friends now.”

 

“Wait, your amnesia goes back to before we were _friends_ ?” Johnny sounded horrified at that, and Peter finally raised his eyes to Johnny’s face. “That _sucks_.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter agreed with a grimace. “You’re telling me. So… I guess we’re gonna have to start over on that.”

 

“I guess so,” Johnny agreed, his voice thoughtful and a little disappointed. Great. Fabulous. Stupendous. “Well, when life gives you lemons, right?”

 

“Right.” Peter looked back out towards the city. “You wanna fill me in on any big events?”

 

“I don’t know that we’ve really had any big events,” Johnny admitted. “Mostly just… small ones. Lots of them. We’ve been hanging out a lot. Couple times a week.”

 

“Wow, seriously? Can’t see wanting to spend that much time around you, Flamebrain, or else I would fry my brain the way you did yours. Maybe that’s the cause of this amnesia after all.”

 

“Har har,” Johnny deadpanned at him, eyes rolling, but a hint of a smile appeared in the corner of Peter’s eye. “Yeah, that’s probably it. So show some respect or I’ll do it again and leave you with no memories except being a little baby. Wait, you’re _already_ a little baby.”

 

“Yeah, well, shows what you know,” Peter knocked their shoulders together again, making Johnny stagger. “Move over, your big head is blocking my view.”

 

“You think you’re real cute, huh, Spider-Man?” Johnny snorted, pushing obnoxiously close against his side.

 

“I’m alright,” Peter agreed conversationally. “I like to think people like me for my personality, though. I guess you’re not familiar with the concept.”

 

“No, I get it,” Johnny was nodding. “It’s the only way you’d get girls, seeing as they don’t really like bugs.”

 

“Seems to me like _you’re_ the real pest around here,” Peter grinned and bumped into Johnny again, making him laugh. “You’re already _bugging_ me.”

 

“Ugh, you don’t get to use amnesia as an excuse to keep using that pun,” Johnny groaned, throwing his head back. “I’m letting it slide just this one time because you don’t remember, but you promised not to say that to me anymore. I expect you to uphold that promise, now that you’ve been informed.”

 

“No way,” Peter argued. “I’m not giving up valuable pun material just to satisfy some dumb promise that probably never even happened.”

 

“What, you think I’d lie to you?” Johnny pressed a hand over his heart, looking offended, and Peter scoffed.

 

“ _Yes_ , obviously. I may not remember the last couple of months, but we’ve known each other longer than that. You’ll say anything to get your way.”

 

“That’s not true,” Johnny protested, and Peter leveled an unimpressed stare at him that made him huff. They really must have been spending a lot of time together, Peter realized, for him to have understood that look even with the mask on. Either that or Deadpool was really starting to rub off on him. “I’m the picture of honesty and virtue.”

 

Peter laughed, straightening up to prop his hands on his hips, grinning under his mask as he turned to look at Johnny. “See, there you go,” He said sternly, shaking his head. “Lying to my _face._ What’s the matter with you? Get it together. At least make it something believable.”

 

Johnny snickered. “Yeah, okay, maybe that one was a bit of an exaggeration. But you really did promise.”

 

“Well, consider it rescinded,” Peter answered primly, propping his hip against the guardrail. He could really see the rhythm of their friendship, he thought, impressed despite himself. It was clear that this was how they always talked to each other, and it was easy to fall into even without the memories of their experience together. That was… pretty cool, actually. It made sense why they would be friends. “I’m free of any and all obligations I undertook during the period not covered by my currently existing memory.”

 

“Jeeze, what? You sound like a lawyer.”

 

“I have friends in high places, I guess.”

 

“Yeah, like _me_ , but I don’t sound like a lawyer.”

 

“I have more friends than you, jerk.”

 

“Name _one_.”

 

“Iron Man.”

 

“Okay, that’s on me, I set the bar too low.” Johnny relented and Peter grinned, looking up towards the sky. It wasn’t late enough for stars, yet, and even if it was, they were still way too close to the city to see any, but sometimes he liked to pretend. 

 

“Yup. So, is this what the plan was for tonight? Just chilling on top of the Statue of Liberty? That’s pretty cool.”

 

“No, we were actually going to go to the High Line, but it kind of looked like you wanted to be somewhere a little more private. You were kind of freezing up in front of those cameras.”

 

Peter groaned, hating to be reminded, and turned back to drape himself over the railing. “No kidding. Where did they even come from?”

 

“I think they were there to cover the festival,” Johnny shrugged. “Try not to stress over it, it’s not a big deal.”

 

“That was my first time on television,” Peter moaned. “And I probably looked like an idiot.”

 

“A cornered idiot,” Johnny agreed, but it was accompanied by a consoling pat on the back. “That’s okay, we all already knew about that.”

 

“Shut up, man,” Peter snorted, shrugging off Johnny’s hand. “This is how you comfort a man in distress? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. This is pitiful.”

 

“What’s pitiful is your whining and griping,” Johnny countered. “Cheer up, buttercup, this is hardly the end of your career. You made it clear a long time ago that you don’t care what the press has to say about you. This doesn’t change anything.”

 

“I can’t talk about you bugging me, but you can say _cheer up, buttercup_? That’s stupid.”

 

“You’re stupid,” Johnny quipped back immediately, which was weak and dumb. “Come on, let’s talk about something other than how stupid you are, that’s a conversation that only gets more depressing as we venture deeper into the rabbit hole.”

 

“You’re such a jerk, why do I even hang out with you?” Peter demanded, but he was laughing again, and Johnny flashed him a blinding grin.

 

“It probably has something to do with my incredible charm and irresistible magnetism,” Johnny commented, but Peter was quick to correct him.

 

“No, it’s probably because you’re a walking porch light.”

 

“Spiders aren’t bugs,” Johnny intoned, and Peter didn’t doubt for a second that he must have said that a million times. Peter grinned.

 

“Right, but they do _eat_ bugs.”

 

“And I’m _always_ buying you food,” Johnny’s eyes widened with the realization, and Peter grinned. “It all makes sense, now!”

 

“Not _always_ ,” Peter argued. “You haven’t today. Or… yesterday?” He ventured a guess, and Johnny shot him a look he couldn’t quite interpret before smiling.

 

“Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that one,” he huffed. “Guess I’d better fix that, wouldn’t want you to starve to death. In a little while, though. I want to enjoy the view a little longer.”

 

“Sure,” Peter agreed as they both settled back against the rail, shoulder to shoulder. “In a little while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, writing this I did not realize that it's almost entirely dialogue. Hmm.
> 
> I missed you guys i o i and I'd love to hear from you!

**Author's Note:**

> I can't wait to hear from you guys again!!


End file.
